- 


ACKWOODS-MYSTERY 


Sc 


RAYTON: 
BACKWOODS  MYSTERY 


WORKS  OF 

Theodore   Goodridge   Roberts 


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53  Beacon  Street,  Boston,   Mass. 


T^YTON'ASACKWODIft  MYSTE. 


RAYTON: 

BACKWOODS  MCYSTERY 


THEODORE  GOODRIDGE  ROBERTS 

Author  of  "  Jl  Captain  of  "Raleigh  'a,  "  "  Comrades 
of  the  trails,  "  "  T^ed  Feathers,  "  etc. 


Illustrated  by 

JOHN  GOSS 


BOSTON    +   L.  C.   PAGE  & 
COMPANY     +    MDCCCCXII 


Copyright,  79/0,  by 
STREET  &  SMITH 

Copyright,  79/0,  by 
LA  SALLE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

Copyright,  1912,  by 
L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 
All  rights  reserved 


First  Impression,  January,  1912 


Electrotyped  and  Printed  by 
THE  COLONIAL  PRESS 
C.  B.  Simonds  fir  Co.,  Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  GAME  THAT  WAS  NOT  FINISHED       .       .  i 

II.  JIM  HARLEY  TELLS  AN  OLD  STORY    ...  17 

III.  DAVID     MARSH      DECIDES     TO      SPEAK  —  AND 

DOESN'T 33 

IV.  THE  TRAPPER'S  CONFESSION         ....  46 
V.  DOCTOR  NASH'S  SUSPICIONS  —  YOUNG  MARSH'S 

MISFORTUNE 61 

VI.  DAVID  TAKES  A  MISFORTUNE  IN  A  POOR  SPIRIT  76 

VII.  MR.  BANKS  TAKES  A  HAND  IN  THE  GAME        .  91 

VIII.  RAYTON  GOES  TO  BORROW  A  SAUCEPAN      .        .  107 

IX.    RAYTON   CONFESSES 122 

X.  RED  CROSSES  AGAIN      .        .     \  .       .       .       .138 

XI.  AN  UNFORTUNATE  MOMENT  FOR  THE  DOCTOR    .  154 

XII.  RAYTON  Is  REMINDED  OF  THE  RED  CROSSES        .  169 

XIII.  CAPTAIN    WIGMORE     SUGGESTS    AN    AMAZING 

THING 184 

XIV.  FEAR  FORGOTTEN  —  AND  RECALLED       .        .        .  200 
XV.    MR.  BANKS  Is  STUNG 215 

XVI.  THE  LITTLE  CAT  AND  THE  BIG  MOUSE       .       .  230 

XVII.  AN  ASTONISHING  DISCOVERY        ....  245 

XVIII.  DICK  GOODINE  RETURNS  UNEXPECTEDLY      .        .  260 

XIX.    THE  CAPTAIN'S   CHARGE 275 

XX.  THE  CHOSEN  INSTRUMENT  OF  FATE   .        .        .291 

XXI.     THE  DEATH  OF  THE  CURSE 302 

XXII.  IN  THE    WAY  OF  HAPPINESS        ....  312 


2137931  * 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


PACK 

NELL  HARLEY         .       .       .       «       .       .       .     Frontispiece 

"JiM  HARLEY  SNATCHED  UP  THE  CARD"    ....  5 

"  HE  ADVANCED  SLOWLY,  PAINFULLY,  A  PITIFUL  FIGURE "  72 

"  PLUNGED  AT  RAYTON,  WITH  HIS  FISTS  FLYING  "    .       .  165 

"  '  IT  IS  BECAUSE  —  BECAUSE  I  CARE  SO  FOR  YOU  —  '  "        .  2OI 
"  THEN   HE   HALTED  AND   RECOILED,  CLUTCHING   AT  THE 

COLD   WALLS!" 233 


RAYTON: 

A     BACKWOODS    MYSTERY 


CHAPTER   I 

THE   GAME   THAT    WAS    NOT    FINISHED 

SAMSON'S  Mill  Settlement  had,  for  the  past 
fifteen  years,  prided  itself  on  its  absolute  respecta- 
bility; and  then  came  Reginald  Baynes  Rayton, 
with  his  unfailing  good  humor,  his  riding  breeches, 
and  constant  "  haw-haw  "  —  and  corrupted  the 
community.  So  it  happened  that  five  representative 
men  of  the  settlement,  and  Mr.  Rayton,  sat  and 
played  poker  one  October  night  in  Rayton's  snug 
living  room.  They  had  done  it  before  —  only  last 
week,  in  fact  —  but  the  sense  of  guilty  novelty 
had  not  yet  worn  off.  Only  Rayton  and  old 
Wigmore  were  absolutely  at  their  ease.  White 
beans  had  to  do  in  the  place  of  the  usual  chips. 
The  standard  of  play  was  very  moderate  —  a  one- 

1 


A  Backwoods  Mystery 


cent  ante  and  a  five-cent  limit  —  but  it  seemed  reck- 
less to  some  of  those  representative  citizens. 

"  Jane  questioned  me  pretty  sharp,  to-night," 
said  Benjamin  Samson,  the  owner  of  the  mill  that 
sawed  lumber  and  ground  buckwheat  for  the  whole 
Beaver  Brook  valley;  "but  I  give  her  a  bagful  of 
evasive  answers.  Yes,  sir-ee!  I  guess  she  sus- 
picioned  something.  She's  been  kinder  expectin' 
me  to  fall  from  grace  ever  since  she  first  married 
me." 

"  Haw-haw !  "  brayed  Mr.  Rayton.  "  Mrs.  Sam- 
son is  a  clever  woman.  She  knows  a  bad  egg, 
Benjamin,  without  having  to  break  the  shell." 

The  others  chuckled. 

"  She  ain't  as  smart  as  you  think,"  replied  Sam- 
son, awkwardly  shuffling  the  cards,  "  for  at  last  I 
said  to  her,  '  I'm  goin'  to  see  Rayton,'  says  I. 
'  He's  started  a  kinder  lit'ry  club  for  his  male 
friends.'  '  Then  you'll  learn  no  harm  from  him,' 
says  she,  *  for  I'm  sure  his  morals  is  as  good  as  his 
manners.  The  way  he  lifts  his  hat  to  me  is  a  reg- 
ular treat.  He  knows  what's  my  due,  even  if  some 
other  folks  don't,'  says  she." 

Five  men,  including  Samson  himself,  roared  at 
this;  but  Rayton's  haw-haw  lacked,  for  once,  its 
usual  heartiness. 


The  Game  That  Was  Not  Finished      3 

"  Oh,  come  now,"  he  protested  shamefacedly. 
"  It's  not  just  the  thing  to  —  to  be  making  fun  of 
a  lady.  Of  course  I  raise  my  hat  to  Mrs.  Samson. 
Proud  to  do  it,  I'm  sure;  and  I'm  glad  she  appre- 
ciates it.  Harley,  you  are  banker,  I  think.  Pass 
me  over  fifty  beans.  Benjamin,  when  you've  fin- 
ished shoveling  those  cards  about  —  I  don't  call  it 
shuffling  —  give  us  a  chance  to  cut  for  deal." 

Jim  Harley,  a  shrewd  man  of  about  thirty  years 
of  age,  who  farmed  in  the  summer  and  operated 
in  the  lumber  woods,  on  a  small  but  paying  scale, 
in  the  winter  months,  counted  out  beans  to  the 
company  in  return  for  quarters  and  dimes.  Sam- 
son shot  the  cards  across  the  table,  backs  up,  and 
every  one  drew.  Old  Captain  Wigmore  won  the 
deal.  He  brought  the  cards  together  in  a  neat  pile 
with  one  sweep  of  the  hand,  shuffled  them  swiftly 
and  skillfully,  and  dealt  so  fast  as  to  keep  three 
in  the  air  at  once.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  watch  him. 
Even  Rayton  was  a  fumbler  with  the  pasteboards 
beside  him. 

The  six  picked  up  their  cards  and  looked  at  them, 
each  in  a  way  characteristic  of  him.  Honest  Ben- 
jamin, catching  sight  of  two  kings  and  feeling 
Doctor  Nash's  prying  glance  upon  him,  struggled 
to  hide  a  smirk  of  satisfaction  that  was  too  strong 


A  Backwoods  Mystery 


for  him.  Ray  ton  beamed;  but  that  might  mean 
anything.  Old  Wigmore's  bewhiskered  face  ex- 
pressed nothing,  as  usual.  The  other  visages 
showed  hope  or  disgust  as  plainly  as  if  the  words 
were  printed  across  them.  Discards  were  thrown 
to  the  centre  of  the  table,  and  Wigmore  distributed 
others. 

"What  —  ?"  queried  young  David  Marsh, 
and  immediately  relapsed  into  silence. 

"  What  what?  "  asked  Rayton. 

"  Oh,  it  will  keep,"  replied  Marsh. 

"  Davy  wants  to  know  if  four  aces  are  any 
good?"  suggested  the  doctor,  winking  at  Rayton. 

Benjamin  Samson,  torn  with  doubt,  ventured 
three  beans  on  the  chances  of  his  pair  of  kings. 
That  started  things  briskly;  but  on  the  second 
round  David  Marsh  went  the  limit.  That  brought 
tilings  to  a  standstill,  and  the  pool  went  to  David 
without  a  challenge;  but  he  showed  his  cards  for 
all  that. 

"  What  I  want  to  know  is,  who's  marked  this 
six  of  clubs?"  he  asked.  "That's  what  I  began 
to  ask,  a  minute  back,"  he  added,  looking  at  Doctor 
Nash. 

"  Four  of  a  kind,"  murmured  Samson  enviously. 

"  But  look  at  the  six  of  clubs,"  urged  Marsh. 


"  JIM   HARLEY   SNATCHED  UP  THE  CARD." 


The  Game  That  Was  Not  Finished       5 

"  Look  at  the  two  red  crosses  in  the  middle  of  it, 
will  you !  " 

All  got  to  their  feet  and  stared  down  at  the 
card. 

"  What's  it  for?  "  demanded  David  Marsh.  "  If 
it  was  marked  on  the  back,  now,  it  might  be  of 
some  use.  I've  heard  of  such  things." 

"  The  marks  weren't  there  last  night,"  said  Ray- 
ton,  "  for  I  was  playing  patience  with  this  very 
pack  and  would  have  seen  them." 

At  that  moment  Jim  Harley  snatched  up  the 
card  and  held  it  close  to  his  eyes.  "  Hell !  "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  The  red  crosses !  " 

They  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment,  and  saw  that 
his  face  was  colorless  under  the  tan.  The  stout, 
excitable  Benjamin  laughed  hysterically  and  fin- 
gered a  pocket  of  his  curving  vest  to  make  sure 
that  his  watch  was  still  there.  He  felt  very  un- 
easy; but  perhaps  Jim  was  only  playing  a  trick  on 
them?  That  was  not  like  Jim  —  but  who  can  say 
what  a  man  may  not  do  who  has  fallen  to  poker 
playing  ?  Old  Captain  Wigmore  shared  this  sus- 
picion evidently. 

"  Very  amusing,  James,"  he  said.  "  You  would 
have  made  a  first-rate  actor.  But  suppose  we  go 
on  with  the  game.  Have  you  another  deck,  Regi- 


6  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

nald  —  one  that  our  smart  young  friend  has  not 
had  a  chance  to  monkey  with?" 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  marked  this  one  ?  "  cried 
Harley.  "What  the  devil  would  I  do  that  for? 
Why,  you  —  you  old  idiot,  I'd  sooner  break  my  leg 
than  see But  what's  the  good  of  talkin'?  " 

Old  Wigmore  sighed  patiently,  sat  down,  and 
began  to  fill  his  pipe.  The  others  stared  at  Jim 
Harley  in  amazed  consternation.  They  saw  that 
he  was  not  joking  and  so  thought  that  he  had  sud- 
denly become  insane. 

"  Yes,  I  quite  agree  with  you,  Jim,"  said  Doctor 
Nash  soothingly.  "  Captain  Wigmore  is  an  old 
idiot,  beyond  a  doubt,  and  it  is  a  most  remarkable 
thing  that  the  card  should  be  marked  with  two  red 
crosses.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  it,  like  a 
good  fellow." 

"  You  go  chase  yourself,  doc,"  returned  the  other 
unpleasantly.  "  You  think  I'm  off  my  nut,  I  guess ; 
but  I'm  saner  than  you  are  —  by  a  long  sight." 

"  I  never  knew  you  to  act  so  queer  before,  Jim," 
complained  Benjamin  Samson.  "  You  give  me  the 
twists,  you  do.  Wish  I'd  stayed  home,  after  all. 
This  card  playin'  ain't  healthy,  I  guess." 

"  Have  a  drink,  Jim.  Something  has  upset  you," 
said  Rayton. 


The  Game  That  Was  Not  Finished      7 

Harley  accepted  a  glass  of  whisky  and  water. 
Then  he  sat  down  and  again  examined  the  six  of 
clubs,  the  others  watching  him  keenly. 

"Oh,  of  course  it's  all  foolishness!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  But  it  gave  me  a  turn,  I  must  say  — 
and  it  being  dealt  to  Dave,  and  all  that.  Looked 
queer,  for  a  minute,  I  must  say.  But  I  guess  Mr. 
Ray  ton  just  marked  it  with  red  ink  and  forgot  all 
about  it." 

Rayton  shook  his  head.  "  Sorry,"  he  replied, 
"  but  there's  not  a  drop  of  red  ink  in  the  house." 

"  Then  some  one  else  did  it,"  said  Harley.  "  It 
just  happened,  that's  all.  No  good  in  talking  about 
it!  Go  on  with  the  game,  boys.  I'll  just  go  home 
and  get  to  bed." 

"  No,  you  don't,  my  son,"  cried  Doctor  Nash. 
;<  You'll  just  sit  where  you  are  and  tell  us  what 
all  this  rot  is  about.  You've  interrupted  our  game, 
and  now  you  have  to  explain  things.  You  hinted 
that  it  was  strange  that  the  marked  card  should  go 
to  Davy  Marsh.  Now  what  did  you  mean  by 
that  ?  You've  got  something  on  your  mind,  I'll  bet 
a  dollar." 

"  I'm  going  home,"  repeated  Harley  firmly. 
"  Are  you  stepping,  too,  Davy  ?  I  want  to  have 
a  word  with  you." 


8  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  Yes,  I'll  come,"  replied  Marsh.  He  turned  to 
the  doctor  and  whispered :  "  Safer  to  have  some- 
body along  with  him,  I  guess.  He  don't  seem  him- 
self, to-night." 

"I'm  off,  too,"  said  Samson.  "I  don't  feel 
right,  I  can  tell  you.  Jim,  your  queer  actions  has 
upset  me.  Wish  I'd  stayed  quietly  at  home,  with 
Jane,  and  read  last  week's  newspaper  like  a  re- 
spectable Christian." 

"  I'm  stepping,  too,"  said  the  doctor.  "  It's  my 
duty  to  keep  an  eye  on  him,  Ray  ton,"  he  added,  in 
an  aside  to  his  host. 

The  man  who  had  caused  the  disturbance  went 
over  to  Rayton  and  shook  his  hand.  His  tanned 
cheeks  had  not  yet  regained  the  glow  of  health  and 
vitality  that  was  usual  to  them. 

"  I  guess  I've  broken  up  your  party  by  my  fool- 
ishness," he  said,  "  and  I'm  all-fired  sorry.  I  wasn't 
myself,  for  a  minute  —  nor  I  don't  feel  quite  right, 
even  now.  I  don't  know  that  I'm  free  to  explain 
my  actions.  If  I  am  I'll  let  you  know  just  how  it 
was,  next  time  I  see  you." 

"  Not  another  word,  my  dear  fellow,"  returned 
Rayton.  "  I'm  sorry  you  have  to  go,  of  course  — 
but  don't  worry  about  it.  And  hang  explaining  ! 
Don't  tell  me  a  word  you  don't  want  to.  No  doubt 


The  Game  That  Was  Not  Finished      9 

it's  a  private  superstition  of  some  kind  —  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort.  Why,  there  was  my  poor  old 
pater  —  and  he  was  a  parson  —  always  got  into  a 
funk  if  three  rooks  perched  on  top  of  his  hat  —  or 
something  of  that  kind.  So  I  understand,  Jim.  I'll 
look  at  the  cards,  next  time,  before  we  begin 
playing." 

Reginald  Baynes  Rayton  did  not  often  say  so 
much  in  one  burst.  It  cost  him  a  serious  effort. 

"  I  believe  you  do  understand,"  said  Harley 
gratefully.  "  You've  shot  mighty  close  to  the 
mark,  anyhow.  I  guess  you're  smarter  than  some 
people  give  you  credit  for,  Mr.  Rayton." 

It  was  not  until  four  of  his  guests  had  been  sped 
into  the  night  with  kindly  words,  that  Rayton 
realized  Jim  Harley's  tactless  but  well-meant 
remark. 

"  Hah-hah  !  "  he  laughed.  "  That  was  too  bad. 
Hah-hah!" 

''  What  are  you  braying  about,  now,  Regi- 
nald ?  "  asked  old  Wigmore,  who  still  sat  at  the 
table,  smoking  his  pipe  and  gazing  at  the  scattered 
cards. 

"  A  joke  of  Harley's.  It  was  quite  unintentional, 
I  think,"  returned  Rayton. 

The  old  man  shot  a  keen  glance  at  the  other  from 


10  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

under  his  shaggy  eyebrows.  "  Those  marks  on  the 
card  seemed  to  hit  him  hard,"  he  remarked.  "  I 
can't  make  it  out.  He  is  a  prosperous,  steady-going 
chap,  without  any  crazy  notions  or  troubles,  and 
very  clear-headed,  I  have  always  heard.  Now,  why 
should  two  red  marks  on  the  six  of  clubs  cause  him 
to  make  a  fool  of  himself?  It  was  young  Marsh, 
I  believe,  who  had  the  card  dealt  to  him." 

"  Yes,  David  Marsh  got  the  card,"  replied 
Rayton. 

"  Then  why  didn't  he  raise  a  row,  if  there's  any- 
thing terrible  in  those  marks?" 

"  It  did  not  mean  anything  to  him,  evidently ; 
but  I'd  swear  it  did  to  Harley.  I've  heard  of  such 
things  at  home  in  England.  I  don't  take  any  stock 
in  them  myself." 

"  Neither  do  I.  But  it's  queer  that  the  marks 
should  have  been  there." 

"  Yes,"  said  Rayton,  and  stepped  over  to  the 
table. 

"  You  needn't  look  for  the  card,"  said  the  old 
man.  "  Nash  took  it  away  with  him.  Last  fall 
he  tracked  a  moose  across  a  plowed  field,  and  he 
has  considered  himself  something  of  a  detective 
ever  since." 

The    young    Englishman    laughed    with    a    pre- 


The  Game  That  Was  Not  Finished     11 

occupied  note.  He  stood  in  front  of  the  open 
stove,  warming  the  seat  of  his  London-cut  breeches. 

"  It  is  queer  that  those  marks  should  be  there," 
he  said,  "  but  it  is  still  queerer  that  they  should  put 
Harley  in  such  a  wax.  Suppose  /  had  put  the 
crosses  there,  for  instance  —  well,  the  thing  would 
be  just  as  queer,  wouldn't  it  ?  A  knowledge  of 
how  the  marks  got  on  the  card  would  not  explain 
Harley's  behavior." 

"  You  are  right,"  returned  the  old  man  dryly. 
"  And  Harley  was  right,  too,  when  he  said  that 
you  are  not  such  a  fool  as  the  people  of  Samson's 
Mill  Settlement  think  you." 

Rayton  laughed  frankly. 

"  You  spoke  of  not  having  a  drop  of  red  ink  in 
the  house ;  but  you  did  not  mention  —  to  me,  at 
least  —  a  drop  of  anything  else,"  continued  the 
other. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon ! "  exclaimed  Rayton. 
'  This  mystery  has  quite  muddled  me.  I'm  awfully 
sorry,  really." 

He  bustled  about  and  placed  a  bottle  of  whisky, 
a  jug  of  fresh  water,  and  two  glasses  on  the 
table. 

"  Don't  apologize,  Reginald,"  said  Wigmore, 
with  a  thin  smile.  "  It  is  not  often  you  forget  to 


12  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

offer  hospitality.  The  fact  is,  you  are  a  bit  too 
hospitable.  You'll  be  giving  away  the  clothes  off 
your  back  next  —  even  those  elegant  looking  pants, 
perhaps." 

"  Oh,  come  now ! "  remonstrated  the  younger 
man,  pulling  at  his  straw-colored  mustache,  and 
grinning  sheepishly. 

:<  You  must  have  a  pot  of  money,  Reginald," 
said  the  other. 

"Heavens!    No!" 

"  Then  why  did  you  give  all  that  tea  and  sugar 
to  that  old  squaw,  Molly  Canadian  —  and  two  bar- 
rels of  potatoes  to  Frank  Gorman?" 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  cried  Rayton, 
astonished. 

The  captain  helped  himself  to  whisky.  "  I  keep 
my  eyes  about  me,"  he  said  complacently.  "  I  know 
pretty  much  everything  that  goes  on  'round  this 
settlement" 

"  Then  I  wish  you  knew  the  secret  of  Jim  Har- 
ley's  queer  behavior  to-night  —  and  how  that  card 
came  to  be  marked,"  replied  Rayton. 

The  old  man  laughed  aloud  —  a  thing  that  was 
rare  with  him.  "  That  is  asking  too  much,"  he  said. 
"  I'm  not  a  wizard,  Reginald.  But  I  venture  to 
say  that,  if  I  gave  my  mind  to  it,  I'd  have  the 


The  Game  That  Was  Not  Finished     13 

mystery  entirely  solved  before  that  Smart  Alec 
of  a  Nash  has  so  much  as  picked  up  the  right 
scent" 

"I  quite  believe  you,"  returned  Rayton.  "Do 
you  know,  captain,"  he  added,  smiling  frankly,  "  I 
wonder  at  your  living  in  this  place.  You  seem  to 
be  —  if  you'll  pardon  my  saying  it  —  of  quite  an- 
other world  than  these  simple  people." 

"  And  what  about  you,  Reginald  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  just  an  ordinary  chap.  Came  out  here 
to  farm  —  and  here  I  am.  All  this  suits  me  to  the 
tick  —  working  in  the  fields,  fishing,  feeding  cattle, 
and  moose  shooting.  But  you  are  not  a  farmer, 
and  why  you  should  have  selected  Samson's  Mill 
Settlement  to  live  in,  after  the  life  you  must  have 
lived,  beats  me.  You  have  no  relations  here.  I 
can't  understand  it,  captain." 

Old  Wigmore  got  to  his  feet,  his  gray  beard 
aquiver  with  anger.  "  Really,  sir,"  he  cried,  "  what 
business  is  it  of  yours  where  I  choose  to  live? 
Damn  it  all!  —  really,  I  did  not  expect  you,  at 
least,  of  prying  into  my  affairs.  Where  are  my 
hat  and  coat?  Thanks  for  your  whisky  —  which 
might  be  better  —  and  good  night  to  you." 

"  Oh,  I  say !  Don't  go,  captain ! "  cried  the 
good-natured  Rayton;  but  the  old  man  had  already 


14  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

stepped  briskly  from  the  room.  In  another  mo- 
ment, the  door  banged  behind  him. 

"  Now  that's  too  bad,  really,"  soliloquized  the 
Englishman.  "  Gad !  I  wouldn't  have  offended 
him,  intentionally,  for  fifty  dollars.  But  he  is  a 
cranky  old  Johnny,  I  must  say." 

He  filled  his  pipe,  cleared  the  cards  from  the 
table,  and  sat  down  before  the  crackling  stove.  Old 
Wigmore's  show  of  temper  soon  gave  way,  in  his 
mind,  to  the  more  startling  and  mysterious  events 
of  the  evening.  The  marks  on  the  card  were 
strange  enough;  but  the  way  in  which  the  sight  of 
those  marks  had  affected  Jim  Harley  was  altogether 
extraordinary.  It  was  not  what  he  would  have 
expected  from  Harley  —  or  from  any  one  in  the 
settlement,  for  that  matter.  The  incident  smacked 
of  the  Wild  West  of  fiction  rather  than  of  the  real 
backwoods  of  New  Brunswick.  And  Harley  was 
such  a  sensible  fellow,  too;  hard-working,  pros- 
perous, with  a  fine  wife,  two  children,  and  such  a 
delightful  sister.  Yes,  a  charming  sister  !  And 
yet  he  had  flown  clean  off  the  handle  at  sight  of 
two  little  red  marks  on  the  face  of  the  six  of  clubs. 
Really,  it  was  preposterous!  Idiotic!  Perhaps  the 
poor  chap  was  ill  —  on  the  verge  of  a  nervous 
breakdown  from  overwork  ?  Or  perhaps  some  silly 


The  Game  That  Was  Not  Finished    15 

old  superstition  was  to  blame  for  the  distressing 
incident? 

"  Well,  it  beats  me  to  a  standstill,"  he  murmured, 
at  last ;  "  but  I  think  Jim  Harley  will  feel  like  a 
fool  when  he  wakes  up  to-morrow  morning  and 
remembers  what  an  ass  he  has  made  of  himself.  I 
hope  the  other  fellows  have  kept  him  from  making 
a  scene  at  home  and  frightening  that  fine  little 
sister  of  his  —  or  his  wife,  either,  of  course." 

Then  Mr.  Rayton  closed  the  drafts  of  the  stove, 
fastened  doors  and  windows,  and  went  upstairs  to 
bed. 

In  the  meantime,  Jim  Harley  had  walked  up  and 
down  the  country  roads  for  an  hour  and  a  half 
before  he  had  convinced  Doctor  Nash  and  Benja- 
min Samson  that  he  was  not  insane,  not  feverish, 
and  not  to  be  forced  into  an  explanation  of  his 
remarkable  behavior  at  Rayton's.  They  went  off 
to  their  homes  at  last,  Samson  disheartened,  Nash 
sarcastic.  Then  Harley  turned  to  young  David 
Marsh. 

"  Davy,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  want  you  to  think  I 
have  gone  cracked  in  the  upper  story;  but  I  can't 
tell  you,  just  now,  why  I've  been  acting  so  queer 
to-night.  I  got  a  scare  —  but  I  guess  there's  noth- 
ing to  it.  Anyhow,  I  want  you  to  keep  clear  of 


16  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

my  place  for  a  day  or   two  —  to  keep  clear  of 
Nell." 

"  What's  that !  "  exclaimed  Marsh  indignantly. 
"  Keep  clear  of  your  place,  is  it  ?  What  the  devil 
is  the  matter  with  me  —  or  with  you  ?  You  think 
I  ain't  good  enough  for  your  sister,  do  you  —  be- 
cause you've  got  some  money  and  I  haven't.  Damn 
your  place ! " 


CHAPTER   II 

JIM    HARLEY   TELLS   AN   OLD   STORY 

JIM  HARLEY  groaned.  "  Davy,  you  are  all 
wrong,"  he  said  gloomily.  "  Hang  it  all,  man, 
don't  be  a  fool!  Don't  go  and  make  things  worse 
for  me.  I  don't  know  just  how  Nell  feels  for  you, 
but  I  like  you  first-rate  —  pretty  near  as  well  as 
any  young  fellow  I've  ever  met.  But  —  but  it's 
for  your  own  good,  Davy.  It's  about  that  card 
going  to  you,  don't  you  see  ?  That  sounds  crazy 
— but  I'm  not  crazy." 

"  The  card  ?  Dang  the  card !  "  returned  David. 
"  What  d'ye  take  me  for,  Jim  Harley,  to  try  to 
scare  me  with  such  fool  talk  as  that?  You  acted 
darn  well  to-night,  I  must  say;  but  I  guess  I  see 
your  game.  You've  invented  some  sort  of  fairy 
story  to  try  to  scare  me  away  from  Nell.  And  so 
you  marked  that  card.  Red  crosses  on  a  card! 
D'ye  take  me  for  a  darn,  ignorant  Injun  or  half- 
breed?  Oh,  you  can't  fool  me!  You  want  to 
catch  that  hee-haw  Englishman  for  Nell,  I  guess." 

17 


18  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

Harley  grabbed  the  younger  man  by  the  shoulder 
with  fingers  like  the  jaws  of  a  fox  trap  for  strength. 
"  You  blasted  young  idiot ! "  he  cried,  his  voice 
trembling  with  anger.  "  D'ye  think  I'd  take  the 
trouble  to  monkey  with  cards,  and  all  that  sort  of 
tommy  rot,  if  I  wanted  to  scare  you  away  from  my 
sister?  No,  David  Marsh,  I'd  just  tell  you  to 
keep  clear  —  and  if  you  didn't  I'd  knock  the  stuffin' 
out  of  you.  I  guess  you  know  me  well  enough  to. 
believe  that." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  believe,"  returned  David 
sulkily,  "  except  that  you're  actin'  more  like  a  darn, 
crazy  half-breed  than  a  white  man,  to-night.  Let 
go  my  shoulder,  anyhow,  or  maybe  you'll  learn  that 
two  can  play  at  that  game." 

Jim  loosed  his  grip,  and  let  his  arm  fall  to  his 
side.  For  a  full  minute  they  faced  each  other  in 
silence  in  the  chill  half  dark  of  the  October  night, 
there  on  the  desolate  backwoods  road.  David 
Marsh  broke  the  silence. 

"  I  don't  want  to  fight  with  you,  Jim,"  he  said, 
"  but  —  but  I  must  say  this  talk  of  yours  about  that 
confounded  card,  and  the  way  you  are  actin'  to- 
night, and  —  and  what  you  just  said  about  Nell 
—  makes  me  mad  as  a  bobcat.  If  you  can  tell  me 
what  it  is  you're  drivin'  at,  for  Heaven's  sake  tell 


Jim  Harley  Tells  an  Old  Story        19 

me  quick  !  I  don't  want  to  think  you've  gone 
nutty,  Jim,  and  no  more  do  I  want  to  think  —  to 
think " 

"What?"  asked  Harley  sharply. 

"  That  you're  a  liar." 

"If  you  think  that,  you'd  better  keep  it  to  your- 
self!" 

"Well,  then,  I  don't  think  it.  But,  jumpin' 
Moses,  I  must  think  something! " 

"  I've  asked  you  to  keep  away  from  my  house, 
and  my  sister,"  returned  Harley,  "  so  perhaps  I 
had  better  explain  things  to  you,  as  well  as  I  can. 
Then  you  can  judge  for  yourself  if  I'm  doing  right 
or  not.  You'll  laugh,  I  guess  —  and  maybe  I'll 
laugh  myself,  to-morrow  morning.  But,  first  of  all, 
Davy,  you  must  give  me  your  word  to  keep  what  I 
tell  you  to  yourself.  Maybe  I'll  have  to  tell  it  to 
Ray  ton,  if  Nell  don't  object,  because  of  the  row  I 
kicked  up  in  his  house.  That  would  be  only  polite, 
I  suppose." 

"  I'll  keep  quiet,  Jim." 

"Let's  walk  along,  to  keep  warm,"  said  Harley. 
"  It's  a  long  story,  Davy,  and  I  guess  you'll  think  it 
a  mighty  foolish  one." 

"  Fire  away,"  returned  Marsh.  "  Foolishness  is 
in  the  air  to-night,  I  reckon." 


20  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  Well,"  began  the  other  slowly,  "  it  starts  with 
my  mother's  mother.  That's  kind  of  a  long  jump 
backward,  but  it  can't  be  helped.  It's  the  way  it 
was  told  to  me.  My  mother's  mother  was  a  pretty 
fine  young  woman,  I  guess,  and  her  parents  weren't 
just  the  common  run  —  they  came  from  Boston 
and  settled  in  St.  John  about  the  time  George 
Washington  got  up  and  hit  the  other  George  that 
smack  over  the  head  which  we've  all  read  about. 
Well,  the  girl  grew  up  a  regular  beauty,  to  judge 
by  the  way  the  young  fellows  carried  on  about  her. 
Two  men  led  all  the  others  in  the  running,  though. 
One  was  a  Spaniard,  and  t'other  was  an  English- 
man; and,  after  a  while,  it  looked  as  if  the  Eng- 
lishman was  getting  along  with  the  girl  better  than 
the  Spaniard.  The  Spaniard  called  himself  a  count, 
or  something  of  that  kind. 

"  One  night,  at  one  of  those  parties  the  men 
used  to  have  in  those  days,  after  they'd  all  eaten 
and  drunk  about  as  much  as  they  could  hold,  they 
sat  down  to  play  cards.  I  don't  know  what  the 
game  was,  but  I  do  know  that  they  used  to  bet  a 
horse,  or  a  gold  watch,  or  a  few  acres  of  land  as 
quick  as  us  fellows  will  bet  five  white  beans.  Well, 
it  happened  that  the  Spanish  count  and  the  young 
Englishman  —  he  was  a  navy  officer,  I've  heard  - 


Jim  Harley  Tells  an  Old  Story       21 

and  two  more  were  at  the  same  table.  Pretty  soon 
the  navy  officer  got  a  card  dealt  to  him  with  two 
red  crosses  marked  on  it.  I  forgot  what  card  it 
was. 

"  Well,  they  didn't  make  any  fuss  about  it,  and 
went  on  with  the  game;  but  when  they  were  think- 
ing of  going  home  the  count  got  the  young  fellow 
by  the  elbow  and  whispered  something  in  his  ear. 
The  other  men  didn't  hear  what  it  was  that  he 
whispered,  but  every  one  in  the  room  heard  the 
navy  officer's  answer  —  and  the  lad  who  afterward 
married  my  mother's  mother  was  one  of  the  fellows 
that  heard  it.  What  the  Englishman  yelled  was: 
'  That's  what  it  means  in  your  country,  is  it  !  The 
devil  take  you,  and  your  lies,  and  your  damn  mon- 
key tricks  ! '  Yes,  that's  what  he  yelled,  right  into 
the  count's  yellow  face.  They  drank  a  terrible  lot 
of  liquor  in  those  days.  More  than  was  good  for 
them,  I  reckon." 

Jim  Harley  paused.  "  It  sounds  like  a  crazy 
sort  of  yarn  to  be  telling,"  he  said  apologetically. 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  David  Marsh.  "  It's  a  fine 
yarn,  Jim  —  and  your  folks  must  have  been  pretty 
big  potatoes.  It's  better  than  a  book.  What  was 
it  the  count  whispered  to  the  navy  officer  ?  " 

"  That  they  never  found  out,"  replied  Jim.    "  But 


A  Backwoods  Mystery 


the  officer  told  a  friend  of  his  —  the  fellow  who  got 
the  girl,  after  all  —  that  the  Spaniard  was  trying 
to  bluff  him  out  of  the  game  —  not  out  of  the  game 
of  cards,  but  away  from  the  girl.  Anyhow,  the 
count  up  and  let  fly  a  glass  of  liquor  fair  into  the 
Englishman's  face,  just  the  way  it's  written  in 
stories.  Then  there  was  a  rumpus,  the  Spaniard 
spitting  like  a  cat,  and  the  other  lad  trying  to  smack 
him  in  the  eye  with  his  fist.  But  fists  weren't  con- 
sidered good  enough  to  fight  with,  in  those  days, 
and  it  wasn't  polite  just  to  pitch  in  when  you  felt 
like  it.  So  they  went  right  out,  and  off  to  a  field 
at  the  edge  of  the  town,  and  fought  a  duel  with 
pistols.  It  was  a  moonlight  night.  It  looked  as 
if  the  Spanish  count  fired  half  a  second  too  soon 
—  anyhow,  he  put  a  hole  smash  through  the  Eng- 
lishman's head.  Well,  that  was  too  much  for  the 
other  lads,  drunk  as  most  of  them  were,  and  they 
went  up  to  the  count  and  told  him  that  if  he  wasn't 
out  of  the  country  before  sunrise  they'd  hang  him 
up  by  the  neck  like  any  common  murderer.  So  he 
-went.  And  he  never  came  back  again,  as  far  as  I 
ever  heard." 

"  I  guess  that  happened  quite  a  while  ago,"  said 
Marsh. 

"  Yes,  a  good  many  years  ago.     But  I've  heard 


Jim  Harley  Tells  an  Old  Story       23 

that  the  old  lady  talked  about  it  to  the  day  of  her 
death." 

"And  who  was  the  man  she  married?" 

"Just  my  grandfather  —  my  mother's  father. 
He  was  a  young  lawyer,  or  something  of  that  kind." 

"  Well,"  said  Marsh,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  that's 
nothing  but  ancient  history.  I  wouldn't  believe 
more  than  half  of  that  even  if  I  had  been  taught 
it  in  school,  out  of  a  book.  If  that's  all  you've  got 
to  say  against  the  red  crosses  then  they  don't  worry 
me  a  mite.  Anyway,  where's  the  Spanish  count  ? 
You'll  have  to  dig  up  a  Spanish  count,  Jim,  afore 
you  can  get  any  change  out  of  me  with  little  red 
crosses  on  a  playin'  card." 

"  Yes,  that  is  ancient  history,"  replied  Harley, 
"  and  I  won't  swear  to  the  truth  of  it.  The  duel 
is  true  enough,  though,  for  my  own  father  saw  it 
written  down  in  the  records.  But  you've  not  heard 
the  whole  story  yet,  Davy.  The  real  thing  —  the 
part  that  bothers  me  —  is  yet  to  come." 

"By  the  great  horn  spoon!"  exclaimed  Marsh. 
"  And  it  must  be  near  ten  o'clock !  Hurry  up  with 
the  rest  of  it,  Jim  —  and  if  it's  not  any  worse  than 
what  you've  told  I'll  think  you've  been  makin'  a 
fool  of  me." 

"  The  rest  of  the  story  is  about  my  own  father 


24  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

—  and  my  own  mother,"  said  Harley.     "  Nell  and 
I  don't  talk  about  it,  even  to  each  other ;  and  this  is 
the  first  time  it's  been  told  to  any  one  outside  the 
family.     I'd  almost  forgotten  it  —  till  I  saw  that 
card  to-night.     Then  it  jumped  into  my  mind  like 

—  like  a  flash  from  hell's  flames." 

David  Marsh  felt  a  sudden  embarrassment,  and 
quick  chill  at  his  heart. 

"  Maybe  you'd  rather  not  tell  it,  Jim,"  he  said. 
"  If  it's  anything  bad  I'll  take  your  word  for  it." 

"  It  is  bad  enough,"  returned  the  other,  "  but  it 
is  not  disgraceful.  I  must  tell  it  to  you,  Davy,  and 
then  you  can  think  over  what  happened  tonight  and 
work  it  out  for  yourself.  It's  only  right  that  you 
should  know  all  that  I  can  tell  you  —  and  then,  if 
you  think  it  all  foolishness,  it's  your  own  funeral." 

David  could  not  see  his  companion's  face  in  the 
darkness,  though  he  fairly  strained  his  eyes  to  make 
it  out.  He  wet  his  dry  lips  with  his  tongue.  "  I'm 
listening,"  he  said,  and  forced  an  uneasy  laugh. 

"  My  mother  lived  in  St.  John  with  her  parents, 
until  she  married,  and  moved  over  to  the  Mira- 
michi,"  began  Harley.  "  My  father's  home  was  in 
St.  John,  too,  when  he  was  a  young  fellow ;  but  he 
was  a  sailor  in  those  days  and  so  spent  most  of  his 
time  at  sea.  He  was  a  smart  lad,  and  no  mistake 


Jim  Harley  Tells  an  Old  Story       25 


a  foreign-goin'  bark  when  he  was 
nineteen  and  skipper  when  he  was  twenty-one. 
His  schooling  had  been  good,  and  he  owned  some 
shares  in  the  ship,  so  he  wasn't  one  of  the  common 
run  of  shellbacks. 

"  When  he  first  met  my  mother  he  was  layin' 
off  a  voyage  to  recover  from  a  dose  of  malarial 
fever  that  had  got  into  his  blood  down  in  Brazil. 
He  saw  her  at  a  party  of  some  kind;  and,  not  be- 
ing troubled  with  shyness,  he  went  right  after  her. 
She  was  a  beauty,  I  guess,  like  her  mother  before 
her  —  and,  like  her  mother  again,  there  was  a  whole 
bunch  of  young  fellows  courting  her.  My  father, 
though,  was  a  fine,  upstanding  lad,  with  good  looks, 
fine  manners,  and  a  dashing  way  in  everything  he 
did.  So  he  sailed  right  in  ;  but  he  didn't  have  every- 
thing all  his  own  way,  at  first. 

"  I've  heard  my  mother  say  that,  Sunday  eve- 
nings, as  many  as  six  young  men  would  call  at  her 
father's  house  —  and  she  was  the  only  girl,  mind 
you.  But  they'd  all  pretend  to  be  pleased  to  see 
each  other,  and  there  would  be  singing,  and  piano 
playing,  and  cake  and  wine  —  yes,  and  the  old  gent 
would  invite  one  or  two  of  them  into  his  library 
to  smoke  his  cigars,  and  the  old  lady  would  talk 
away  to  the  rest  of  them  about  the  grand  times  in 


26  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

St.  John  when  she  was  young.  Sometimes  she'd 
tell  about  how  the  navy  officer  and  the  Spanish 
count  fought  about  her  —  and,  of  course,  she'd 
mention  the  queer  marks  on  the  card.  She  called 
it  a  romantic  story. 

"  Well,  it  wasn't  long  before  my  father  thought 
he  had  the  other  fellows  beaten  out,  so  he  popped 
the  question.  My  mother  said  '  Yes  '  -  and  so  the 
old  people  announced  the  engagement.  They  were 
pretty  stylish,  you  see.  My  father  was  all  cured 
of  his  malarial  fever,  by  this  time,  and  ready  for 
sea  again.  About  a  week  after  my  mother  had 
given  him  her  promise,  and  only  a  few  days  before 
he  expected  to  have  his  ship  ready  for  a  voyage 
to  the  West  Indies,  he  was  walking  home  about 
ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  and  met  a  bunch  of  his 
friends.  They  were  going  to  have  supper  at  a 
hotel  and  then  finish  the  night  at  card  playing. 
Well,  my  father  was  a  light-hearted  lad,  with  a 
pocketful  of  money  and  a  taste  for  jolly  com- 
pany; so  he  joined  the  gang.  The  game  they 
played  was  whist.  Suddenly  my  father  jumped  to 
his  feet,  his  face  as  red  as  fire,  and  tore  one  of 
the  cards  into  little  bits  and  flung  them  on  the 
floor. 

"  '  You  may  consider  that  a  joke  —  whoever  did 


Jim  Harley  Tells  an  Old  Story        27 

it  —  but  it's  a  damn  poor  joke ! '  he  cried.  He 
was  a  good  man,  but  sometimes  he  got  boiling 
mad.  Some  of  the  lads  asked  him  what  was  the 
trouble,  and  one  young  fellow  picked  up  the  scraps 
of  the  torn  card  and  found  the  two  red  crosses. 
'  Some  one  here  knows  what  the  trouble  is,'  yelled 
my  father,  '  and  if  he'll  just  stand  up  and  confess 
to  his  ungentlemanly  joke,  I'll  smack  him  across 
the  face  for  his  trouble.' 

"  Nobody  stood  up,  you  may  bet  your  hat  on 
that;  but  when  the  lad  who  had  picked  up  the 
scraps  of  card  began  handing  them  around,  a  lot 
of  them  began  to  laugh  and  jeer,  and  make  fun 
of  the  sailor.  Most  of  them  had  heard  the  old 
lady  tell  about  the  Spanish  count,  you  know. 
'  Better  make  your  will,'  said  one.  '  That's  a  dan- 
gerous family  to  monkey  with,'  said  another. 
'  Glad  I'm  not  in  your  boots.'  '  It's  the  Spaniard's 
ghost.'  *  Better  break  it  off,  Torn,  and  look  'round 
for  a  safer  wife.'  '  The  other  chap  who  got  the 
red  marks  was  a  sailor,  too.' 

"  And  so  they  shouted  things  at  him  until  he 
was  mad  enough  to  kill  somebody.  But  he  couldn't 
tackle  them  all.  So  he  called  them  a  lot  of  hard 
names.  He  told  them  that  the  sailors  aboard  his 
ship  had  a  better  idea  of  a  joke  and  better  man- 


28  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

ners  than  they  had.  They  began  to  quiet  down, 
then,  and  some  of  them  looked  mighty  red  in  the 
face,  for  every  lad  there  considered  himself  some- 
thing pretty  extra  when  it  came  to  style  and  man- 
ners. My  father  finished  by  saying  that  the  trick 
they  had  played  and  the  things  they  had  said  to 
him  were  insults  to  two  ladies  who  had  never  done 
any  of  them  a  shadow  of  harm.  Most  of  them 
jumped  up  and  yelled  that  they  knew  nothing  about 
any  trick,  and  hadn't  meant  to  insult  any  one;  but 
my  father  just  glared  and  sneered  at  them,  and 
left  the  room.  He  was  just  a  skipper  of  a  sailing 
ship,  but  he  had  been  brought  up  with  pretty  strict 
notions  about  manners,  and  insults,  and  those  kinds 
of  things. 

"  He  had  just  reached  the  street  when  one  of 
the  others  —  a  lad  called  Jackson  —  came  jumping 
after  him  and  grabbed  him  by  the  back  of  the  neck. 
This  Jackson  was  as  white  as  paper,  he  was  that 
mad.  '  I'll  teach  you  your  proper  place,  you  damn 
fo'castle  swine ! '  he  yelled,  striking  my  father  in 
the  face  with  his  free  hand.  Well,  my  father 
jerked  himself  clear  and  give  him  one  on  the 
jaw  that  put  him  to  sleep  for  an  hour  or 
two." 

At  this,  Harley  halted  in  his  talk,  and  his  walk, 


Jim  Harley  Tells  an  Old  Story       29 

at  one  and  the  same  moment,  and  began  to  cut 
tobacco  for  his  pipe. 

"  Go  ahead !  "  exclaimed  young  Marsh. 

"  Well,  all  that  row  was  kept  quiet,"  continued 
Harley.  "  My  father  sailed  away  —  and  then 
came  a  report  that  pieces  of  the  wreck  of  his  ship 
had  gone  ashore  on  the  Bahamas.  Then  people 
who  knew  about  the  marked  card  began  to  talk. 
It  looked  as  if  what  the  Spanish  count  had  said, 
in  the  old  days  —  or  what  people  supposed  he  had 
said  —  had  some  truth  in  it.  His  girl  —  she  who 
was  afterward  my  mother  —  nearly  went  crazy. 
Then,  one  fine  day,  my  father  turned  up,  sound 
as  a  bell  —  the  only  survivor  of  the  wreck  of  his 
ship.  He  got  his  share  of  the  underwriter's  money, 
and  invested  it  in  a  one-third  interest  in  another 
and  smaller  vessel.  He  had  no  trouble  in  getting 
the  job  of  skipper  of  her;  but  he  had  plenty  of 
trouble  with  his  sweetheart  and  her  parents,  for 
they  were  all  sure  that  the  red  crosses  were  really 
the  marks  of  the  devil  and  had  caused  the  loss 
of  his  ship.  My  father  laughed  at  them;  and  well 
he  might,  since  his  ship  had  gone  down  in  a  hurri- 
cane that  had  wrecked  half  a  dozen  other  vessels, 
and  he  was  the  only  man  to  be  saved  from  all  his 
crew.  'If  the  devil  had  anything  to  do  with  it,' 


30  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

he  said,  '  he  certainly  made  a  mess  of  it.'  But  it 
took  him  a  whole  week  to  calm  them  down  and  get 
the  girl's  promise  to  marry  him  on  his  return  from 
his  next  voyage. 

"  On  the  very  night  before  he  was  to  sail,  when 
he  was  on  his  way  to  the  ship  from  saying  good-by 
to  my  mother  and  the  old  people,  a  man  sprang 
out  from  behind  a  pile  of  lumber  on  one  of  the 
wharves,  and  struck  at  him;  but  my  father  jumped 
back  in  time  and  struck  in  return  with  a  loaded 
stick  which  he  carried.  The  man  let  a  yelp  of  pain 
out  of  him,  and  ran  up  the  wharf  to  the  dark 
streets  of  the  city.  My  father  struck  a  light  and 
presently  found  something  that  he  had  heard  drop 
on  the  planks  when  the  fellow  yelped  —  a  long 
knife  with  a  point  sharp  as  a  needle. 

"  He  went  aboard  his  ship,  wrote  a  letter,  packed 
up  the  knife  in  a  box,  and  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing sent  both  letter  and  knife  ashore  to  a  magis- 
trate. Then  he  sailed  away.  He  returned  after 
three  months,  with  a  cargo  of  sugar  and  molasses 
—  and  his  left  arm  in  a  sling.  He  had  been 
stabbed,  one  night,  in  Bridgetown,  Barbados.  That 
was  a  thing  that  did  not  often  happen  in  Barbados. 

"  Immediately  upon  his  return,  he  made  quiet 
inquiries  for  young  Mr.  Jackson.  But  Jackson  had 


Jim  Harley  Tells  an  Old  Story        31 

gone  away,  months  before.  There  had  been  some 
talk  about  the  police  going  to  look  for  Jackson 
too,  just  about  the  time  my  father  had  sailed  away. 
My  father  never  gave  the  red  crosses  two  thoughts ; 
but  he  often  remembered  the  look  in  Jackson's 
face  that  night  they  had  fought  in  the  street  after 
the  game  of  cards. 

"  Well,  they  married,  and  my  father  gave  up 
the  sea,  moved  to  the  mouth  of  the  Miramichi,  and 
started  shipbuilding.  That  was  on  my  mother's 
account.  He  did  a  good  business,  and  they  were 
happy.  I  was  their  first  child.  Five  years  later, 
Nell  came.  About  six  months  after  that  an  en- 
velope was  left  at  the  house  for  him  by  a  poor 
old  half-witted  character  in  the  town,  who  had  once 
been  a  sailor.  When  my  father  came  home  from 
the  office  he  opened  the  envelope  —  and  out  fell  a 
blue-backed  playing  card  onto  the  carpet.  My 
mother  went  into  a  dead  faint,  without  waiting 
to  see  the  face  of  it.  When  my  father  turned  it 
over,  there  were  the  two  red  crosses ! " 

"  Did  they  catch  Jackson?  "  asked  David  Marsh. 

"  No,"  returned  Harley.  "  My  father  ran  out  of 
the  house,  maybe  to  find  the  poor  half-wit  who 
had  brought  it  to  him,  and  he  was  shot  dead  within 
ten  yards  of  his  own  door." 


32  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"By  Jackson?"  cried  David,  in  a  husky  voice. 

"  It  must  have  been.  No  one  was  caught.  The 
shock  killed  my  mother.  That  is  the  story,  Davy. 
There  wasn't  much  money  for  Nell  and  me,  by 
the  time  I  was  old  enough  to  notice  things  —  and 
we  came  here,  as  you  know,  nine  years  ago." 

"  But  —  who'd  want  to  play  the  old  trick  on 
me?  "  asked  Marsh  anxiously.  "  And  who  is  there 
here  that  knows  anything  about  it?  Jackson? 
What  would  he  care  about  Nell  and  me?" 

"  Some  rival,  perhaps,"  suggested  Harley.  '  The 
devil  only  knows!  Perhaps  some  one  who  dislikes 
you  knows  the  old  story;  but  —  don't  ask  me," 
he  added  nervously. 

"  There  is  Dick  Goodine,  the  trapper,"  said 
Marsh.  "  He  is  sweet  on  Nell.  But  what  does  he 
know  —  and  how  could  he  do  it?  Hell!  Jim,  it 
beats  me ! " 


CHAPTER   III 

DAVID    MARSH    DECIDES    TO    SPEAK  —  AND   DOESN'T 

JIM  HARLEY  decided,  before  morning,  that  he 
must  tell  the  tragic  story  to  Rayton.  He  also  de- 
cided that  there  was  no  need,  at  present,  of  telling 
either  Nell  or  his  wife  of  the  mysterious  advent 
of  the  two  red  marks  into  Samson's  Mill  Settle- 
ment. 

Young  David  Marsh  spent  a  restless  night,  going 
over  and  over  all  that  Jim  had  told  him.  He  came 
to  the  conclusion,  at  last,  that  the  red  crosses 
themselves  were  harmless,  and  utterly  foolish,  and 
that  the  real  danger  and  tragedy  lay  in  the  human 
fate  that  had  always  inspired  their  appearance. 
Then  his  active  mind  quested  far  and  near  in  search 
of  an  enemy  of  his  own  to  correspond  with  the 
Spanish  count  of  the  first  tragedy,  and  with  young 
Jackson  of  the  second  —  and  not  only  that,  but 
he  must  find  an  enemy  who  was  in  love  with  Nell 
Harley,  and  who  knew  the  story  of  the  red  crosses. 
He  thought  of  every  man  he  had  ever  met,  young 

33 


34  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

and  middle-aged;  but  he  soon  saw  that  this  was 
too  wide  a  field  to  explore.  He  could  only  bring 
to  mind  one  man  who,  to  his  certain  knowledge, 
had  paid  any  attention  to  Nell  Harley  —  and  this 
was  Dick  Goodine.  Likewise,  he  could  think  of 
only  one  man  in  the  community  with  whom  he  was 
not  on  fairly  friendly  terms  —  and  this,  too,  was 
Goodine. 

Goodine  had  French  blood  in  his  veins,  and  was 
known  to  be  eccentric;  but  he  had  never  been  con- 
sidered dangerous  in  any  way.  He  was  a  good- 
looking  young  woodsman  who  spent  his  summers 
in  idleness,  and  his  winters  in  trapping  furs.  Some- 
times he  did  a  little  business  in  David  Marsh's  own 
chosen  field,  and  guided  "  sports  "  into  the  wilder- 
ness after  moose  and  caribou.  But  this  was  not 
often,  for  Dick  Goodine's  pride  was  even  quicker 
than  his  temper.  "  It's  not  white  men's  work," 
he  had  said  to  David,  not  long  before,  in  the  course 
of  the  very  argument  that  had  caused  the  coolness 
that  now  existed  between  them.  "  It's  Injun's 
work  —  or  nigger's.  The  guidin'  is  good  enough; 
but  when  it  comes  to  cookin'  for  them,  and  pullin' 
off  their  wet  boots  at  night  —  oh,  t'  hell  with  it! 
It  may  suit  you,  but  it  don't  suit  me." 

But  how  should   Dick  Goodine  know  anything 


David  Marsh  Decides  to  Speak       35 

about  the  story  of  the  red  crosses,  even  if  the  state 
of  his  feelings  had  become  sufficiently  violent  to 
incite  him  to  make  use  of  them?  And  he  had  not 
been  at  Rayton's,  last  night.  How  could  he  have 
marked  the  card?  So  David  dismissed  the  trapper 
from  his  mind,  for  the  time,  and  turned  elsewhere 
for  a  solution  of  the  mystery. 

There  was  young  Rayton,  the  Englishman.  The 
thing  had  happened  in  his  house,  and  the  marked 
card  belonged  to  him.  He  was  a  stranger  to  the 
settlement,  for  he  had  been  only  six  months  in 
the  place.  He  seemed  honest  and  harmless  —  but 
that  was  not  enough  to  clear  him.  The  dazzling 
smile,  clear,  gray  eyes,  and  ready  haw-haw  might 
cover  an  unscrupulous  and  vicious  nature.  What 
was  known  in  Samson's  Mill  Settlement  of  his 
past?  Nothing  but  a  few  unlikely  sounding  anec- 
dotes of  his  own  telling.  He  had  traveled  in  other 
parts  of  the  province,  looking  for  a  farm  that  suited 
both  his  tastes  and  his  purse,  so  he  might  very 
easily  have  heard  something  of  the  fate  of  Jim 
Harley's  father. 

So  far,  so  good!  But  was  he  in  love  with  Nell 
Harley?  He  had  shown  no  signs  of  it,  certainly; 
and  yet  if  he  took  an  interest  in  any  young  woman 
in  the  settlement,  or  within  ten  miles  of  it  in  any 


36  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

direction,  it  would  naturally  be  in  Nell  Harley. 
She  was  well  educated  —  and  so  was  the  English- 
man, seemingly.  No  one  had  ever  denied  her  quiet 
beauty.  Any  one  with  half  an  eye  could  see  that 
she  and  Jim  came  of  a  stock  that  was  pretty  special. 
That  would  attract  the  Englishman,  no  doubt,  for 
he,  too,  looked  and  talked  like  something  extra 
in  the  way  of  breed.  But,  in  spite  of  all  this, 
David  had  to  admit  to  himself  that  he  had  neither 
heard  nor  seen  anything  to  lead  him  to  suppose 
that  Rayton  was  his  rival. 

Well,  who  else,  then?  What  about  Doctor 
Nash?  Nash  was  a  bachelor,  and  a  great  hand  at 
making  himself  agreeable  with  the  women.  But 
David  knew  that  Nell  did  not  like  Nash;  but, 
of  course,  a  little  thing  like  that  wouldn't  bother 
Nash  if  he  had  taken  a  fancy  in  that  direction. 
Yes,  the  doctor  might  be  the  man.  The  idea  was 
worth  keeping  in  sight.  David  could  not  bring 
any  other  suspect  to  mind.  Benjamin  Samson  and 
old  Wigmore  had  been  there  when  the  marked 
card  made  its  appearance,  'tis  true;  but,  in  spite 
of  his  anxiety  to  solve  the  mystery,  David  put 
these  two  harmless  gentlemen  from  his  thoughts 
with  a  chuckle. 

At  last  David  Marsh  was  on  the  verge  of  sleep 


David  Marsh  Decides  to  Speak       37 

when  a  sudden,  galling  question  flashed  into  his 
mind  and  prodded  him  wide  awake  again.  \yhy 
should  anybody  who  might  be  in  love  with  Nell 
Harley  look  upon  him  —  upon  David  Marsh  — 
as  a  dangerous  rival?  Why,  indeed!  He  was 
sweet  on  Nell,  there  was  no  denying  it,  and  had 
been  for  the  past  three  years  or  more,  and  no 
doubt  there  had  been  talk  about  his  frequent  calls 
at  Jim's  house;  but  had  she  ever  treated  him  as 
anything  but  just  a  good  friend?  Not  once.  He 
was  honest  enough  with  himself  to  admit  this,  but 
it  hurt  his  vanity.  And  had  he  ever  told  her  that 
he  loved  her?  No.  He  had  meant  to,  over  and 
over  again ;  but,  somehow,  things  had  never  seemed 
to  be  exactly  in  line  for  the  confession.  The  fact 
is,  there  was  something  in  the  young  woman's 
frank  manner  with  him,  and  in  the  straightfor- 
ward glance  of  her  eyes,  that  always  made  him 
feel  that  next  time  would  do.  He  had  never 
even  found  sufficient  courage  to  try  to  hold  her 
hand. 

"  I  guess  she  likes  me,  though,"  he  murmured. 
"  I'll  go  to-morrow  and  tell  her  how  I  feel  toward 
her.  Yes,  by  thunder!  I'll  show  the  fellow  who 
fixed  that  card  trick  on  me  that  I  ain't  scared  of 
him  —  nor  of  her,  neither.  Why  should  I  be  scared 


38  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

of  her?  I'm  honest  —  and  I'm  making  good 
money  —  and  Jim  likes  me,  all  right.  That  card 
trick  settles  it,  by  ginger!  I'll  go  and  tell  her  to- 
morrow. I'll  give  that  skunk  a  run  for  his  money, 
whoever  he  may  be." 

As  much  in  the  dark  as  ever  about  the  mystery 
of  the  marked  card,  but  fully  determined  on  his 
course  of  action  as  regards  Miss  Harley,  David, 
Marsh  fell  asleep  at  last.  His  alarm  clock  had 
been  set  for  six,  however,  as  he  had  a  busy  day 
before  him;  so  he  was  soon  awake  again.  He  sat 
up,  grumbling,  and  lit  the  little  oil  lamp  that  stood 
on  a  chair  beside  his  bed.  There  was  no  turning 
over  and  going  to  sleep  again  for  him,  for  he  had 
to  get  a  load  of  provisions  and  some  kit  in  to  his 
camp  on  Teakettle  Brook  before  night;  for  he 
was  expecting  a  sportsman  from  the  States  along 
in  a  few  days.  From  the  nearer  camp  be  would 
have  to  portage  a  lot  of  grub  across  a  half  mile 
of  bad  trail  and  take  it  up,  by  canoe,  to  his  shack 
on  the  headwaters  of  Dan's  River. 

"  I've  got  to  hustle !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  jumped 
courageously  out  of  his  warm  bed;  but  the  instant 
his  feet  struck  the  cold  floor,  the  queer  happenings 
and  stories  of  the  previous  night  flashed  into  his 
mind.  "  Hell !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  must  see  Nell, 


David  Marsh  Decides  to  Speak       39 

I  guess  —  but  I've  simply  got  to  get  that  jay  of 
stuff  in  to  the  Teakettle  by  dark." 

He  grumbled  steadily  while  he  dressed.  Dawn 
was  breaking,  and  the  world  outside  looked  de- 
pressingly  cold  and  rough.  He  had  a  hard  day 
before  him  and  a  hard  to-morrow  after  that;  but 
he  must  snatch  a  half  hour  for  his  interview  with 
Nell.  He  shaved  in  cold  water,  with  a  razor  that 
needed  honing  —  and  this  did  not  lighten  his  spirits. 
"  The  devil  take  that  foolishness !  "  he  grumbled. 
"Why  can't  things  leave  me  alone?"  He  went 
downstairs  in  his  sock  feet,  pulled  on  his  heavy 
boots  in  the  kitchen,  and  lit  the  fire.  He  was  a 
handy  young  fellow  —  as  a  guide  and  woodsman 
needs  to  be  —  and  set  briskly  to  work  to  cook  his 
own  breakfast.  He  was  sitting  up  to  his  tea  and 
bacon,  close  to  the  crackling  stove,  and  the  world 
outside  was  looking  considerably  brighter,  when 
his  mother  entered  the  room. 

"What  is  worryin'  you,  Davy?"  she  inquired 
anxiously.  "  I  heard  you  tossin'  and  turnin'  last 
night." 

"  Nothing  much,"  he  replied.  "  I  was  just 
planning  things.  I've  a  heap  to  do  before  Mr. 
Banks  lands  here  with  his  patent  range  finders, 
and  seventeen  different  kinds  of  rifles.  He's  not 


40  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

the  kind  to  kick  at  hard  hunting,  and  he's  gener- 
ous; but  he  likes  to  have  everything  tidy  and 
handy." 

"  I'm  sure  he'll  have  nothin'  to  complain  of, 
Davy,  so  long  as  you  look  after  him,"  returned 
Mrs.  Marsh.  "  But  what  kept  you  out  so  late  last 
night?" 

"  I  was  talking  to  Jim  Harley." 

"  Oh,  you  were  at  the  Harleys'  place,  were  you  ? 
You  seem  to  be  gettin'  along  fine  in  that  quarter, 
Davy." 

The  young  man  blushed.  "  I  wasn't  at  the  house, 
mother,"  he  said.  "  I  met  Jim  over  at  Rayton's, 
and  we  went  for  a  walk  together.  He  had  a  regu- 
lar talking  fit  on,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  I  didn't  know  Jim  was  ever  took  that  way," 
returned  the  mother.  "  So  you  saw  young  Mr. 
Rayton,  did  you  ?  And  how  is  he  ?  " 

"  He's  all  right,  I  guess." 

"  He's  a  very  polite,  agreeable  young  man." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he's  polite  enough." 

Mrs.  Marsh  looked  at  him  sharply. 

"  What  have  you  got  against  Mr.  Rayton?  "  she 
demanded. 

"Nothing,"  replied  David.  "Nothing  at  all, 
mother.  I  don't  know  anything  about  him,  good 


David  Marsh  Decides  to  Speak       41 

or  bad.  But  it's  easy  enough  to  be  polite,  I  guess 
—  and  it  don't  cost  anything." 

The  mother  sighed  and  smiled  at  the  same  time. 
"If  it's  so  easy,"  she  said,  "  then  I  wish  more 
folks  about  here  would  try  it." 

David  drained  his  cup,  and  got  to  his  feet. 
"  Well,  I  must  hustle  along,  mother,"  he  said.  "  I've 
got  to  run  over  to  Harley's  before  I  load  up  for 
Teakettle  Brook." 

"  Jim  goin'  with  you  ?  " 

"No.    Oh,  no!" 

:<  You  wouldn't  go  callin'  on  a  young  lady  this 
time  in  the  morning,  surely?" 

"  Oh,  quit  your  fooling,  mother !  I've  simply 
got  to  speak  to  Nell  this  morning." 

The  moment  the  door  had  shut  behind  David, 
Mrs.  Marsh  went  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  "  Wake 
up,  pa !  "  she  called. 

"  Wake  up !  "  repeated  a  voice  from  above  bit- 
terly. "  Bless  my  soul,  I've  been  awake  an  hour 
and  up  this  last  fifteen  minutes;  but  I'm  stuck 
for  want  of  my  pants!  D'ye  expect  me  to  chase 
'round  in  the  mud  in  my  Sunday-go-to-meetin's, 
ma?" 

"  Dear  me !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Marsh.  "  I  was 
patchin'  them  last  night  and  left  them  in  the  sittin' 


42  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

room."  She  ran  and  got  her  husband's  required 
garments,  and  threw  them,  flapping  ungracefully, 
up  the  narrow  back  staircase  to  him. 

Soon  after  that  old  Davy  appeared.  "  Where's 
the  boy?  "  he  asked. 

"  He's  had  his  breakfast,  and  now  he's  run  over 
to  see  Nell  Harley,"  replied  Mrs.  Marsh,  beaming. 

"Then  the  more  fool  him!"  said  old  Davy. 
"  It's  time  he  cut  that  out.  Ain't  he  got  an  eye 
in  his  head?  He's  got  no  more  chance  of  marry  in' 
her  than  I'd  have  if  I  was  into  the  game." 

"  D'ye  mean  that  she  don't  think  him  good 
enough  for  her?"  asked  the  other  sharply. 

"  I  guess  she  don't  think  anything  about  him  at 
all,  from  what  I  can  see.  He's  good  enough  for 
any  girl  —  but  he  ain't  got  the  character  to  catch 
Nell  Harley.  That's  it  —  he  ain't  got  the  char- 
acter." 

"  He's  got  as  good  a  character  as  any  young 
man  in  the  province  —  as  good  as  you  had,  at  his 
age,  David  Marsh !  " 

The  old  man  shook  his  head,  smiling.  "  He's 
a  good  lad.  I've  nothin'  to  say  against  our  youngest 
son,  ma.  But  he's  all  for  his  sportsmen  and  his 
savings-bank  account  —  all  for  himself.  He's 
smart  and  he's  honest  —  but  he's  all  for  Number 


David  Marsh  Decides  to  Speak       43 

One.  To  catch  a  girl  like  Nell  Harley  a  man 
would  want  to  jump  right  into  the  job  with  both 
feet,  hell  bent  for  election,  holusbolus  and  hokus- 
pokus  and  never  say  die  —  like  I  done  when  I 
went  a-courtin'  you,  ma." 

Mrs.  Marsh's  face  recovered  its  usual  expression 
of  good  humor.  "  Maybe  you're  right,  pa,"  she 
said.  "  He  don't  seem  to  give  his  hull  mind  to  his 
courtin',  I  must  say." 

In  the  meantime,  young  David  had  tramped  the 
half  mile  of  road  that  lay  between  the  Marsh  farm 
and  Jim  Harley's  place.  The  sun  had  come  up 
white  and  clean  in  a  clear  sky,  promising  a  fine 
day.  A  few  vivid  red  and  yellow  leaves  still  hung 
in  the  maples  and  birches,  and  the  frost  sparkled 
like  diamonds  in  the  stubble,  and  shone  like 
powdered  glass  along  the  fence  rails.  The  air 
went  tingling  to  heart  and  head  like  a  wine  of  an 
immortal  vintage.  David  felt  fairly  reckless  under 
the  influence  of  it;  but  when  he  came  face  to  face 
with  Nell  Harley,  in  the  kitchen  door,  his  reck- 
lessness turned  to  confusion. 

"  You  are  out  early,  Davy,"  said  the  young 
woman,  smiling  pleasantly.  "  Do  you  want  to  see 
Jim?" 

"Well  — yes,  I  guess  I  do,  Nell." 


44  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  Nothing  the  matter  over  at  your  house,  I 
hope?" 

"  No.    Everything's  all  right." 

"  Come  in.  We've  finished  breakfast,  but  Jim  is 
not  down  yet.  He  was  out  until  late,  last  night, 
and  I  don't  think  he  slept  well." 

David  followed  her  as  far  as  the  dining-room 
door,  but  there  he  halted. 

"  I  guess  I  won't  trouble  him,  Nell,"  he  said. 
"  I'm  in  a  hurry,  too.  I  have  to  get  a  load  in  to 
my  camp  on  the  Teakettle  to-day." 

"  Can  I  give  him  a  message?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  It  ain't  important.  Good  morning, 
Nell." 

He  was  halfway  home,  thoroughly  disgusted 
with  himself,  when  a  voice  hailed  him.  Looking 
up,  he  saw  old  Captain  Wigmore  approaching. 

"  Good  morning  to  you,  David,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, halting  in  front  of  him.  "  Did  James  Harley 
explain  his  extraordinary  behavior  to  you,  last 
night?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Ah!   And  what  was  the  explanation?  " 

"  You'd  better  ask  him  yourself,  cap.  He  told 
me  not  to  tell." 

The  old  man  drew  himself  up  and  rapped  his 


•  David  Marsh  Decides  to  Speak       45 

stick  on  the  ground.  "  Confound  his  imperti- 
nence !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  shall  ask  him,  certainly. 
He  owes  me  an  explanation.  Queer  way  to  behave 
before  a  man  of  my  age  and  position!  And  he 
called  me  an  old  idiot ! " 


CHAPTER   IV 
THE  TRAPPER'S  CONFESSION 

OLD  Captain  Wigmore  returned  to  his  lonely  but 
well-furnished  and  well-painted  house,  ate  a  re- 
flective breakfast,  smoked  a  cigar,  and  then  set  out 
to  find  Jim  Harley.  Wigmore  lived  with  a  servant 
or  companion  —  a  very  old,  grizzled,  silent  fellow, 
who  did  not  seem  to  be  "  all  there."  It  was  from 
this  old  chap,  Timothy  Fletcher  by  name,  that  the 
people  of  the  settlement  had  learned  to  give  Wig- 
more  the  title  of  captain.  As  to  what  kind  of  a 
captain  he  had  been,  opinions  differed. 

Wigmore  found  Harley  in  the  farm-yard  help- 
ing a  teamster  get  away  with  a  wagonload  of  pork, 
flour,  and  oats  for  his  lumber  camp  on  Harley 
Brook,  five  miles  away.  As  soon  as  man  and  load 
were  gone,  the  captain  addressed  the  lumber  opera- 
tor. 

"  James,"  said  he,  slowly  and  with  dignity,  "  I 
feel  that  you  owe  me  an  explanation  of  your 
strange  behavior  of  last  night." 

46 


The  Trapper's  Confession  47 

Harley  sighed.  "  I  can't  explain  it  to  you,  cap- 
tain," he  said.  "  It  has  to  do  with  —  with  a  purely 
family  matter ;  but  I  beg  your  pardon  for  anything 
amiss  that  I  may  have  said  to  you  in  my  excite- 
ment." 

"Granted,  James!  Granted!"  returned  Wig- 
more,  with  a  fine  gesture  of  the  left  hand. 
"  But  I  am  sorry,  of  course,  that  you  —  but  it 
does  not  matter;  I  am  old,  more  or  less  of 
a  stranger,  and  of  no  importance.  You  ex- 
plained your  agitation  to  young  Marsh,  I  under- 
stand?" 

"  Yes,  I  felt  that  I  owed  it  to  him." 

"  Very  good,  James.  Of  course  I  am  anxious, 
and  fairly  itching  with  curiosity  —  but  my  curiosity 
does  not  matter  in  the  least.  It  struck  me  as  a 
most  remarkable  thing,  though." 

"I  was   foolish,"   said  the  other;    "but  should 
it  happen  that  —  that  it  turns  out  to  be  serious  - 
to  really  mean  anything  —  may  I  confide  in  you, 
captain  ?   May  I  ask  your  advice  ?  " 

"  Please  do  so,  my  dear  boy,"  replied  Wigmore 
cordially.  "  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  do  any- 
thing for  you  —  or  for  any  member  of  your  family. 
But  now  I'll  not  keep  you  from  your  work  any 
longer,  James.  If  I  may,  I'll  just  step  over  to 


48  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

the  house  and  pay  my  respects  to  the  ladies.  I  have 
a  new  book  in  my  pocket  that  they  may  be  inter- 
ested in." 

"  They'll  be  glad  to  see  you,  captain,"  said  Jim 
sincerely.  "  They  always  are." 

So  the  captain  went  to  the  house  and  Mrs. 
Harley  and  Nell  were  glad  to  see  him,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  it  was  rather  a  busy  time  of  day 
for  them  to  receive  a  caller.  But  the  captain  could 
be  very  entertaining  when  he  took  the  trouble  to 
try  —  and  he  always  took  the  required  amount  of 
trouble  when  he  met  the  Harley  women.  Now  he 
produced  the  new  book  from  his  pocket,  and  laid 
it  on  the  table.  It  was  a  volume  of  literary  essays ; 
and  Nell  took  it  up  eagerly.  The  captain  talked 
a  little  of  books,  lightly  and  gracefully,  and  a  little 
of  travel  and  big  cities.  He  had  a  pretty  wit. 
Except  for  the  gray  in  his  beard  and  mustache  and 
neatly  brushed,  thick  hair,  he  did  not  look  to  be 
more  than  middle-aged  while  he  talked.  Though 
he  always  walked  with  a  slight  limp,  now  he  stood 
very  straight.  His  bright,  dark  eyes  turned  to  Nell 
when  she  looked  away  from  him.  He  remained 
for  about  twenty  minutes,  and  then  went  away, 
leaving  a  very  pleasant  impression  in  the  minds 
of  both  young  women. 


The  Trapper's  Confession  49 

"  What  a  catch  he  would  be  if  he  wasn't  so  old!  " 
said  Jim's  wife,  laughing. 

Nell  shook  her  head  seriously.  "  He  is  very 
entertaining,"  she  replied,  "  and  has  read  a  great 
deal  and  seen  a  great  deal;  but  there  is  something 
about  his  eyes  that  —  well,  that  is  not  attractive." 

"  Most  eccentric  people  have  eyes  like  that,"  re- 
turned Mrs.  Harley  —  who,  by  the  way,  was  not 
a  native  of  the  settlement  —  "  and  I  do  not  think 
them  unattractive.  Now  there  is  poor  Dick  Goodine. 
His  eyes  are  like  that,  too  —  so  bright  and  quick." 

"  But  Dick's  are  honest  —  and  Captain  Wig- 
more's  look  sly." 

"Oh!  You  like  Dick's  eyes,  Nell?  Well,  I  think 
you  might  find  eyes  to  admire  belonging  to  some 
one  more  worth  while  than  Dick  Goodine." 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Kate,  please! "  cried  Nell.  "  I 
am  no  more  interested  in  the  eyes  of  the  young 
men  of  this  place  than  you  are." 

"What  about  David  Marsh?" 

"  Poor  David.  He  is  not  amusing;  and,  though 
he  looks  so  simple,  I  must  say  that  I  cannot  under- 
stand him." 

Jim  Harley  went  to  see  Rayton,  and  found  him 
bringing  his  horses  in  from  the  fields  just  at  the 
fall  of  the  dusk.  The  Englishman  had  been  doing 


50  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

a  last  bit  of  fall  plowing  before  the  frost  gripped  the 
land  in  earnest.  He  was  muddy,  but  cheerful;  and 
as  hospitable  as  ever.  Harley  stayed  to  supper  - 
a  very  good  supper  of  his  host's  own  cooking. 
Then  they  lit  their  pipes  and  went  into  the  sitting 
room,  where  a  fine  fire  was  crackling  in  the  open 
stove.  Harley  told  Rayton  the  same  story  that 
he  had  told,  the  night  before,  to  young  Marsh. 

"  Good  heavens !  That  is  very  tragic ! "  ex- 
claimed the  Englishman.  "  But  I  must  say  that 
I  think  last  night's  incident  was  nothing  but  chance. 
The  card  had  become  marked  in  some  way,  quite 
by  accident  —  and  there  you  are." 

They  talked  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  Rayton 
would  not  give  way  an  inch  in  his  argument,  that 
the  affair  of  the  previous  night  had  been  nothing 
but  blind  chance.  He  was  much  more  impressed 
by  the  other's  story  of  the  past,  and  felt  a  new 
interest  in  Jim  Harley. 

"  I  wish  I  could  look  at  it  as  you  do,"  said 
Jim,  as  he  was  leaving  for  home.  "  But  it  seems 
to  be  more  than  chance  to  me  —  it  looks  like  that 
same  damnable  hate  that  killed  my  father." 

"  But  why  should  it  descend  upon  young  Marsh  ? 
Surely  he  is  not  —  that  is,  Miss  Harley  does 
not " 


The  Trapper's  Confession  51 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Jim.  "  I  don't  think  so 
—  but  I  don't  know.  The  thing  worries  me,  any- 
how —  worries  me  like  the  devil !  I'll  keep  my 
eyes  open,  you  may  bet  on  that;  and  I'd  consider 
it  mighty  friendly  of  you  to  do  the  same." 

"  I'll  do  it,  then,  Jim,  though  I  must  say  I'm 
not  much  of  a  hand  at  solving  mysteries  or  catch- 
ing sinners.  But  I'll  keep  my  peepers  open,  you 
may  gamble  on  that." 

Reginald  Baynes  Rayton  returned  to  his  warm 
chair  by  the  fire,  and  fixed  his  mind,  with  an  effort, 
on  the  solving  of  the  mystery.  He  liked  Jim 
Harley,  so  he'd  get  to  the  bottom  of  that  card 
trick  if  it  burst  his  brain.  Suddenly  he  slapped  his 
hand  on  his  knee. 

"  I  have  it!  "  he  cried.  "  By  George,  I  have  it! 
It's  that  blithering  bounder,  Nash.  He's  always 
up  to  some  rotten  joke  or  other;  and  he's  heard 
that  story  about  the  mother  and  grandmother  some- 
where, and  so  marked  that  card  to  take  a  rise  out 
of  Jim.  He  hasn't  enough  sense  to  know  if  a 
thing  is  sacred  or  not.  He's  one  of  those  dashed 
fools  who  enjoy  jumping  in  where  angels  fear 
to  tread.  That's  it.  By  George,  it  didn't  take  me 
long  to  work  out  that  puzzle!  But  I'll  just  keep  it 
to  myself  for  a  while  —  to  make  sure,  you  know." 


52  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

So  he  put  the  incident  of  the  previous  night  out 
of  his  mind,  and  thought  of  Harley's  story,  and 
of  Harley's  sister,  instead.  He  knew  Nell,  of 
course,  but  had  not  talked  with  her  more  than  half 
a  dozen  times.  He  admired  her  greatly;  and  now, 
since  hearing  this  story  of  her  parents  and  her 
grandmother,  he  felt  an  extraordinary  stirring  of 
tenderness  toward  her.  He  sighed,  lit  another  pipe, 
and  went  up  to  bed.  He  wanted  to  be  up  in  the 
morning  at  even  an  earlier  hour  than  usual,  for 
he  had  planned  a  long  day  in  the  woods.  He  had 
arranged  with  a  lad  on  the  next  farm  to  tend  the 
stock  for  him  during  the  day. 

Rayton  gave  the  animals  their  morning  feed  and 
breakfasted  himself  by  lantern  light.  Then,  with 
the  pockets  of  his  shooting  coat  stored  with  sand- 
wiches and  a  flask  of  whisky  and  water,  and  with 
his  grown  spaniel,  Turk,  wriggling  about  his  feet, 
he  set  out  for  the  big  timber  that  crowded  right 
up  to  his  back  pastures  from  the  hundreds  of  square 
miles  of  wilderness  beyond.  A  heavy  frost  had 
gripped  the  earth  during  the  night.-  The  buckwheat 
stubble  was  crisp  with  it. 

Dawn  was  spreading  over  the  southeastern  sky 
as  he  came  to  the  edge  of  the  forest.  He  halted 
there,  called  Turk  to  heel,  and  filled  and  started 


The  Trapper's  Confession  53 

his  pipe.  His  equipment  was  remarkable,  and  it 
would  bother  some  people  to  say  what  game  he 
intended  to  go  after  with  a  dog  and  a  rifle.  But 
Rayton  knew  what  he  was  about.  He  wanted  to 
bag  a  few  brace  of  ruffled  grouse;  but  he  did  not 
want  to  miss  any  good  chance  that  might  offer 
at  moose,  caribou,  or  deer.  And  he  could  not  carry 
both  shot-gun  and  rifle.  The  dog  was  well  trained 
and  could  be  depended  upon  not  to  trail,  rush,  or 
startle  any  big  game.  So  it  was  Rayton's  method 
to  let  Turk  flush  the  birds  from  the  ground  into 
the  trees,  from  which  he  would  then  shoot  them 
with  the  rifle.  He  always  fired  at  the  head.  Of 
course,  he  missed  the  mark  frequently,  in  which 
case  the  bird  flew  away  uninjured,  as  it  is  almost 
impossible  to  catch  sight  of  a  flying  bird  in  the 
high  and  thick  covers  of  that  country,  this  was  a 
good  and  sportsmanlike  plan;  and  then  he  always 
had  his  rifle  with  him  in  case  he  came  across  some- 
thing bigger  than  grouse. 

Rayton  carried  a  compass,  and  was  not  above 
consulting  it  now  and  again.  Men  have  been  lost 
in  less  formidable  wildernesses  than  that  —  and 
have  never  been  found.  By  noon  he  had  five  grouse 
attached  to  his  belt  —  each  minus  its  head  —  and 
had  failed  to  get  a  clean  shot  at  a  bull  moose. 


54  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

He  had  crossed  two  small  streams,  and  was  now 
close  to  the  Teakettle.  He  sat  down  on  a  fallen 
hemlock,  and  brought  a  bone  for  Turk,  and  half 
the  sandwiches  from  his  pocket.  Suddenly  the 
spaniel  jumped  to  his  feet  with  a  low,  inquiring 
yap.  Rayton  turned  and  beheld  Dick  Goodine. 

"  Hello,  Goodine,  you're  just  in  time,"  he  cried 
cheerfully. 

At  that,  Turk  lay  down  again  and  gnawed  at 
the  bone. 

"  Good  day,   Mr.  Rayton,"  replied  the  trapper. 

He  carried  a  rifle  under  his  arm,  and  an  axe 
and  small  pack  on  his  shoulder.  He  advanced, 
laid  his  axe  and  pack  on  the  ground,  and  shook 
hands  with  the  Englishman.  He  was  a  handsome 
man,  younger  than  the  farmer  by  a  year  or  two, 
perhaps,  and  not  so  tall  by  a  couple  of  inches. 
His  eyes  were  large  and  dark,  and  just  now  had 
a  somewhat  sullen  light  in  their  depths.  His  face 
was  swarthy  and  clean-shaven.  He  leaned  his  rifle 
against  an  upheaved  root,  and  sat  down  on  the  log 
beside  Rayton. 

"Any  luck?  "he  asked. 

"  No,"  replied  the  Englishman,  "  How  about 
you?" 

"  I've   shot   my   three   head   already.      I'm   just 


The  Trapper's  Confession  55 

cruisin'  now,  keepin'  an  eye  open  for  b'ar  and  fixin' 
up  a  few  dead  falls.  Plenty  of  signs  of  fur  this 
year." 

"  Glad  to  hear  it ;  but  you  don't  look  as  gay  as 
usual  for  all  that.  But  help  yourself,  Dick.  Help 
yourself,  and  here's  the  flask." 

Goodine  removed  his  wide  felt  hat,  smiling  re- 
flectively. "  Thank'e,"  he  said,  and  took  up  a 
sandwich.  Half  of  it  was  gone  —  and  he  ate 
slowly  —  before  he  spoke  again.  "  Well,  I  don't 
feel  gay,"  he  said. 

"What's  the  trouble?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  my  troubles  —  like  most  of  us,  I 
guess.  But  just  for  the  moment  it's  Davy  Marsh 
is  kinder  stickin'  in  my  crop." 

The  other  started,  almost  upsetting  the  flask 
which  stood  on  the  log  beside  him. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Davy?"  he  asked. 

"  I  saw  him  this  mornin',  yonder  at  his  camp 
on  the  Teakettle,"  replied  the  trapper.  "  We  had 
an  argyment  about  guidin',  a  month  or  two  ago  — 
only  a  word  or  two  —  an'  he  holds  it  against  me. 
He  was  loadin'  his  canoe,  for  Dan's  River,  when 
I  sighted  him.  I  sung  out  to  him,  friendly  as  you 
please  —  and  he  didn't  much  more  than  answer 
me.  Well,  I've  always  put  up  with  Davy,  because 


56  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

he  can't  help  his  manners,  I  guess,  so  I  kep'  right 
along  and  helped  him  trim  his  canoe  and  get  away 
downstream.  But  he  was  sulky  as  a  b'ar  with  a 
bee  in  his  ear  all  the  time,  and  kep'  lookin'  at  me 
as  if  I  was  dangerous.  He  was  darn  uncivil  — 
an'  that's  a  thing  I  can't  stand.  I've  bin  sorter 
chewin'  on  it,  ever  since." 

"  Cheer  up,  Dick,"  returned  Rayton,  and  laughed 
heartily.  "  You  mustn't  let  Davy  Marsh's  bad 
manners  hump  you.  Take  a  drink  and  forget  it." 
He  offered  the  flask. 

Goodine  shook  his  head.  "  I  guess  not,  thank'e 
all  the  same,"  he  said.  "  I  know  your  liquor  is 
good.  I've  drunk  it  before,  and  there's  no  man 
in  the  country  I'd  sooner  take  a  smile  with  than 
you,  Mr.  Rayton;  but  I'm  leavin'  the  stuff  alone, 
now." 

"  Right  you  are,  Dick,"  replied  the  other,  re- 
turning the  flask  to  his  pocket  without  quenching 
his  own  thirst. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  trapper,  "  it  makes  a  beast 
of  me.  If  I  got  a  taste  of  it,  now,  I'd  go  out  to  the 
settlement  and  get  some  more,  and  keep  at  it  till 
I  was  a  regular  beast.  So  I  reckon  I'll  cut  it  out." 
He  looked  keenly  at  the  Englishman.  "  Last  time 
I  was  cornered,"  he  continued,  "  she  saw  me !  " 


The  Trapper's  Confession  57 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Rayton.     "Who  saw  you?" 

"  Nell  Harley  —  the  whitest  woman  on  top  the 
earth !  She  saw  me  when  I  was  more  like  a  hog 
than  a  man.  I  was  shamed.  I'm  sick  with  the 
shame  of  it  this  very  minute." 

Rayton  looked  embarrassed. 

"Oh!  I'm  a  fool  to  be  talkin',"  continued  the 
other  bitterly ;  "  but  I  can't  keep  wrestlin'  with  my- 
self all  the  time.  She's  treated  me  right  —  but  I 
know  she  don't  care  a  damn  for  me.  And  why 
should  she?  Oh!  I  ain't  quite  a  fool!  But  I  want 
her  to  think  well  of  me  —  I  want  to  show  her  that 
I'm  as  decent  as  most  men  'round  these  parts,  and 
decenter  than  some.  Yes,  I  want  her  to  see  that  — • 
and  I  can  be  decent,  if  I  try.  I'm  poor  —  but  that's 
no  disgrace  in  this  country,  thank  God!  My  old 
man  was  a  drunkard;  but  my  mother  is  a  good 
woman,  and  honest.  She  is  French,  from  up 
Quebec  way.  I  reckon  some  folks  'round  here  think 
that's  something  for  me  to  be  ashamed  of." 

"  Think  what  is  something  to  be  ashamed 
of?" 

"  Bein'  half  French." 

"  The  devil ! "  exclaimed  Rayton  indignantly. 
"  Then  they  show  their  ignorance,  Dick.  French 
blood  is  glorious  blood.  I'm  pure  English  myself, 


58  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

but  I  say  that  and  stick  to  it.  What  was  your 
mother's  name?  " 

"  Julie  Lemoyne  was  her  maiden  name." 

"  That  was  a  great  name  in  Quebec,  in  the  old 
days,"  replied  Rayton  enthusiastically ;  "  and  it 
may  still  be,  for  all  I  know.  There  have  been  great 
soldiers  by  that  name,  and  some  famous  scholars, 
too."  He  clipped  a  hand  on  the  trapper's  knee. 
"  So  cheer  up !  "  he  cried.  "  Very  likely  you  are 
descended  from  soldiers  and  scholars.  Take  it  for 
granted,  anyway,  and  act  accordingly  —  and  you'll 
be  the  equal  of  anybody  in  this  province.  Never 
mind  Davy's  bad  manners,  but  take  them  for  a 
warning.  And  if  —  if  you  care  for  some  one  you 
consider  to  be  too  good  for  you,  just  show  her, 
by  your  actions  —  and  by  your  life  —  that  it  is  an 
honor  to  enjoy  your  regard  and  friendship." 

Dick  Goodine  looked  at  the  speaker  with  glowing 
eyes.  "  You've  done  me  good !  "  he  cried.  "  I  feel 
more  like  a  man,  already.  You're  a  wonder,  Mr. 
Rayton  —  a  livin'  wonder.  Shake  on  it!  I'm  your 
friend,  by  damn!  from  now  till  hell  freezes 
over." 

"  Thanks.  And  I'm  your  friend,"  said  Rayton, 
shaking  the  proffered  hand  vigorously.  "  And  I 
hope  you'll  forgive  me  for  preaching,"  he  added. 


The  Trapper's  Confession  59 

"  Forgive  you  ?  I'll  bless  you  for  it,  more  likely," 
returned  Dick. 

They  were  about  to  part  —  for  the  trapper  meant 
to  spend  the  night  in  the  woods  and  the  farmer 
wanted  to  get  home  before  dark  —  when  Goodine 
turned  again,  a  daring  and  attractive  figure 
with  axe  and  pack  on  his  right  shoulder  and  the 
rifle  in  his  left  hand.  "But  don't  think  that  I'm 
even  expectin'  to  be  good  enough  for  her,"  he 
said.  "  I'll  try  to  be  decent,  God  knows !  —  but  I'll 
still  be  just  a  poor,  ignorant  bushwhacker.  You 
are  more  the  kind  she  ought  to  marry." 

"Me!  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Dick?"  cried 
Rayton. 

1  That's  all  right,"  replied  the  trapper,  and  van- 
ished in  the  underbrush. 

Rayton  tramped  and  scrambled  along  with  his 
mind  so  busy  with  thoughts  of  Dick  Goodine,  of 
Nell  Harley,  and  of  David  Marsh  that,  when  he 
arrived  at  -his  own  pasture  fence  shortly  after  sun- 
set, he  discovered  that  he  had  not  added  so  much 
as  one  bird  to  his  bag. 

'  The  devil !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  That  comes  of 
woolgathering.  But  never  mind,  Turk,  we'll  do 
better  to-morrow." 

When   he  reached   the   house   he   found   Doctor 


60  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

Nash's  buggy  in  front  of  the  door,  and  the  doctor 
inside. 

"  I  thought  I'd  drop  in  and  have  a  talk  over 
that  queer  business  of  a  couple  of  nights  ago,"  said 
Nash. 

This  dealt  a  blow  to  Rayton's  suspicion.  "  Drive 
'round  and  we'll  put  the  nag  under  cover,  and  give 
her  a  feed,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER   V 

DOCTOR  NASH'S  SUSPICIONS  —  YOUNG  MARSH'S 
MISFORTUNE 

DOCTOR  NASH  was  a  gentleman  blessed  with  the 
deportment  of  early  and  untrained  youth,  and  with 
the  years  of  middle  age.  His  manners  were  those 
of  a  first-year  medical  student,  though  he  considered 
himself  to  be  a  polished  and  sophisticated  man  of 
the  world.  He  had  practised  in  four  different  parts 
of  the  country,  but  had  nowhere  impressed  the  peo- 
ple favorably  by  his  cures,  or  his  personality.  He 
was  a  bachelor.  He  was  narrow  and  lanky  of  build, 
but  fat  and  ruddy  of  face.  His  hair  was  carroty 
on  top  of  his  head,  but  of  a  darker  shade  in  mus- 
tache and  close-trimmed  beard.  His  eyes  were 
small  and  light,  and  over  the  left,  the  lid  drooped 
in  a  remarkable  way.  Whenever  he  happened  to 
remember  the  dignity  of  his  profession  he  became 
ridiculously  consequential  —  and  even  when  he  for- 
got it  he  continued  to  make  a  fool  of  himself. 

These  traits  of  character  did  not  endear  Doctor 
Nash  to  Mr.  Rayton,  but  they  did  not  mar  the 

61 


62  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

perfection  of  the  farmer's  simple  hospitality.  He 
produced  a  cold  venison  pie  for  supper,  made  coffee 
and  buttered  toast,  and  flanked  these  things  with  a 
decanter  of  whisky  on  one  side  and  a  jug  of  sweet 
cider  on  the  other. 

"  Cold  meat  pie,"  remarked  Nash  slightingly  — 
and  immediately  began  to  devour  it.  After  saying 
that  he  had  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  as  buttered 
toast  for  supper  he  ate  more  than  half  the  supply. 
He  lost  no  time  in  informing  the  other  that  he  had 
always  dined  in  the  evening  before  fate  had  thrown 
him  away  on  a  backwoods  practice. 

Rayton  haw-hawed  regularly,  finding  this  the 
easiest  way  of  hiding  his  feelings. 

"Whisky!"  exclaimed  Nash,  after  his  second 
cup  of  coffee  with  cream.  "  I  believe  you  live  for 
it,  Rayton.  I  never  have  it  in  my  own  house 
except  for  medicinal  purposes."  Then  he  helped 
himself  to  a  bumper  that  fairly  outraged  his  host's 
sense  of  proportions. 

"  I  saw  Miss  Harley  to-day,"  he  said.  "  She  told 
me  that  Jim  had  been  to  see  you,  last  night." 

"Well?"  queried  Rayton,  puzzled.  "She  does 
not  object,  does  she?"  His  mind  had  been  fur- 
tively busy  with  the  young  woman  throughout  the 
meal. 


Doctor  Nash's  Suspicions  63 

"  So  I  thought  that  he  may  have  explained  his 
queer  behavior  to  you,"  said  the  other. 

"  Yes,  he  did." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  Really,  Nash,  I  don't  know  that  I  have  any 
right  to  repeat  what  he  told  me." 

"  Did  he  ask  you  not  to  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  perhaps  he  intended  to  do  so  and 
forgot." 

Nash  laughed  uproariously.  "  You  are  the 
limit !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  beat  the  band !  Why 
should  he  tell  you  a  thing  that  he  would  not  want 
me  to  know?  " 

Rayton  suspected  several  reasons;  but  he  did 
not  want  to  offend  his  guest  by  advancing  them. 

"  Have  you  seen  Jim  since  that  night  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  No." 

"  But  saw  his  sister?  " 

"  Yes.    Jim  wasn't  at  home." 

Rayton  lit  his  pipe,  reflected  for  half  a  minute, 
and  then  gave  his  guest  a  brief  and  colorless  version 
of  the  story.  He  told  it  grudgingly,  wishing  all 
the  while  that  Harley  had  asked  him  not  to  re- 
peat it. 

Nash  straddled  his  long,   thin  legs  toward   the 


64  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

fire.  "  So  that's  the  yarn,  is  it?  "  he  sneered.  "  And 
do  you  believe  it?  " 

"Believe  it?    What  Harley  told  me?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Certainly  I  do." 

"  Then  you  are  more  of  a  fool  than  I  took  you 
for.  Don't  you  see  it's  all  a  game  of  Harley's 
to  keep  that  young  cub  away  from  his  sister?  He 
doesn't  want  to  have  such  a  lout  hanging  'round 
all  the  time  for  fear  it  may  scare  some  one  else 
away  —  some  one  who'd  be  a  better  catch.  So  he 
rigged  the  card  and  invented  the  fine  story." 

Rayton  withdrew  his  pipe  from  his  lips  and 
stared  at  his  guest  blankly. 

"  Oh !  that  was  easy,"  continued  Nash  compla- 
cently. "  I  thought,  until  you  told  me  that  yarn, 
that  I  really  had  hold  of  a  problem  worth  solving. 
But  it  is  easy  as  rolling  off  a  log.  Here  is  the 
marked  card.  See,  it  is  marked  in  red  chalk.  A 
man  could  do  that  in  two  winks,  right  under  our 
noses."  He  handed  the  card  to  Rayton  —  the 
cross-marked  six  of  clubs.  Rayton  took  it,  but 
did  not  even  glance  at  it.  His  gaze  was  fixed 
steadily  upon  his  guest. 

"  I  don't  quite  follow  you,"  he  said  —  "  or,  at 
least,  I  hope  I  don't." 


Doctor  Nash's  Suspicions  65 

"Hope  you  don't  follow,  me?  What  do  you 
mean?  " 

"  I  mean  just  this,  Doctor  Nash.  When  you 
happen  to  be  in  my  house  be  careful  what  you  say 
about  my  friends." 

Nash  stared.  Then  he  laughed  unpleasantly. 
"  Are  you  bitten,  too  ?  "  he  asked. 

Rayton  got  to  his  feet.  "  See  here,  Nash,  I  don't 
want  to  cut  up  rusty,  or  be  rude,  or  anything  of 
that  kind,"  he  exclaimed,  "  but  I  warn  you  that  if 
you  don't  drop  this  personal  strain  there'll  be 
trouble." 

"  Personal  strain !  "  retorted  the  other.  "  How 
the  devil  are  we  to  talk  about  that  card  trick,  and 
the  cause  of  it,  without  becoming  personal?" 

Rayton  was  silent. 

"  But  you  know  what  I  think  about  it,"  con- 
tinued Nash,  "  so  you  can  make  what  you  please 
of  it.  I'll  be  going  now.  I'm  not.  used  to  be 
jawed  at  by  a  —  by  a  farmer." 

The  Englishman  laughed,  helped  his  offended 
guest  into  his  overcoat,  followed  him  to  the  stable, 
and  hitched-in  the  nag  for  him. 

"  A  word  of  advice  to  you,"  said  Nash,  when  he 
was  all  ready  to  drive  away.  "  If  you  have  your 
eye  on  Miss  Harley,  take  it  off.  Don't  run  away 


66  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

with  any  idea  that  Jim  is  trying  to  scare  young 
Marsh  out  so  as  to  clear  the  road  for  you." 

Then  the  whip  snapped  and  away  he  rolled  into 
the  darkness. 

Rayton  stood  in  the  empty  barnyard  for  a  long 
time,  as  motionless  as  if  he  had  taken  root.  "  I'll 
keep  a  grip  on  my  temper,"  he  said  at  last.  "  For 
a  while,  anyway.  When  I  do  let  myself  out  at 
that  silly  ass  it'll  be  once  and  for  all." 

Then  he  returned  to  the  sitting-room  fire  and 
thought  about  Nell  Harley. 

"  Goodine,  Marsh,  and  Nash  —  they're  all  in 
love  with  her,"  he  muttered.  "  So  it  looks  as  if 
some  one  was  up  to  some  sort  of  dirty  game  with 
that  marked  card,  after  all;  but  who  the  devil  can 
it  be?  It's  utter  nonsense  to  suspect  poor  Dick 
Goodine  —  or  Jim ;  but  it  will  do  no  harm  to  keep 
my  first  idea  about  Nash  in  my  mind.  If  he  did 
it,  though,  I  don't  believe  it  was  in  the  way  of  a 
joke,  after  all." 

Now  to  go  back  to  the  morning,  and  David 
Marsh.  At  break  of  day  the  guide  had  started  the 
horses  and  wagon  back  along  the  muddy  twelve- 
mile  road  to  the  settlement,  in  charge  of  a  young 
nephew.  They  had  been  gone  an  hour  when  Dick 
Goodine  appeared.  At  that  appearance  it  had  im- 


Doctor  Nash's  Suspicions  67 

mediately  jumped  into  his  mind  that  the  trapper 
was  spying  on  him;  but  he  had  kept  the  thought 
to  himself.  He  had  been  greatly  relieved,  however, 
to  get  away  from  the  trapper's  company  and  un- 
solicited assistance.  There  was  plenty  of  water  in 
the  brook,  so  he  paddled  swiftly  down  the  brown 
current  for  a  mile  or  two.  Then,  feeling  that 
he  had  got  clear  of  Goodine,  he  let  the  heavily 
loaded  canoe  run  with  the  current  and  filled  his 
pipe. 

"  The  more  I  see  of  that  Goodine,"  he  reflected, 
"  the  more  I  mistrust  him.  And  the  cheek  of  him, 
poor  and  shiftless,  to  think  about  Nell.  I  bet  it 
was  him  put  the  marks  on  that  card,  somehow  or 
other.  The  dirty  French  blood  in  him  would  teach 
him  how  to  do  them  kinder  tricks.  Why,  he  ain't 
much  better  than  a  half-breed  —  and  yet  he  talks 
about  bein'  above  cookin'  for  sports,  and  lookin' 
after  them  in  camp.  He's  too  lazy  to  do  honest 
work,  that's  what's  the  matter.  So  long's  he  can 
raise  enough  money  to  go  on  a  spree  now  and  then, 
he's  happy.  I  don't  trust  him.  I  don't  like  them 
black  eyes  of  his.  I  bet  he's  been  spying  on  me 
ever  since  I  got  to  the  camp  last  night.  Let  him 
spy!  He'd  be  scared  to  try  anything  on  with  me; 
and  if  he  thinks  a  girl  like  Nell  would  have  any- 


68  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

thing  to  do  with  a  darn  jumpin'  Frenchman  like 
him,  he  better  go  soak  his  head." 

So  as  the  stream  carried  him  farther  and  farther 
away  from  the  spot  where  he  had  left  the  trapper, 
his  indignation  against  that  young  man  increased 
and  his  uneasiness  subsided. 

"  I  wish  I'd  up  and  asked  him  what  the  devil 
he  wanted,"  he  muttered,  "  I'd  ought  to  let  him 
see,  straight,  what  I  think  of  him.  But  maybe  he 
was  just  lookin'  for  trouble  —  for  a  chance  to  get 
out  his  knife  at  me.  He  wouldn't  mind  killin'  a 
man,  I  guess  —  by  the  looks  of  him.  No,  he 
wouldn't  go  so  far  as  that,  yet  a  while.  That 
would  cook  his  goose,  for  sure." 

Three  miles  below  the  camp,  the  Teakettle  emp- 
tied into  a  larger  stream  that  was  known  as  Dan's 
River.  It  was  on  the  headwaters  of  this  river 
that  Marsh  had  his  second  and  more  important 
sporting  camp  in  a  region  full  of  game.  On  reach- 
ing Dan's  River,  Marsh  swung  the  bow  of  his  canoe 
upstream,  keeping  within  a  yard  or  two  of  the 
right  bank.  He  laid  his  paddle  aside,  took  up  a 
long  pole  of  spruce,  and  got  to  his  feet,  perfectly 
balanced.  For  the  first  quarter  of  a  mile  it  was 
lazy  work,  and  then  he  came  to  a  piece  of  swift 
and  broken  water  called  Little  Rapids.  This  was 


Doctor  Nash's  Suspicions  69 

a  stiff  piece  of  poling,  though  not  stiff  enough 
under  any  circumstances  to  drive  an  experienced 
canoe  man  to  portaging  around  it.  David  Marsh 
had  mastered  it,  both  ways,  at  all  depths  of  water, 
more  than  a  dozen  times.  The  channel  was  in 
midstream.  The  canoe  shot  across  the  current  and 
then  headed  up  into  that  long  rush  and  clatter  of 
waters.  The  young  man  set  his  feet  more  firmly 
and  put  his  body  into  his  work. 

The  slim,  deep-loaded  craft  crawled  upward, 
foot  by  foot,  the  clashing  waters  snarling  along 
her  gunwales  and  curling  white  at  her  gleaming 
bow.  Now  David  threw  every  ounce  of  his 
strength,  from  heel  to  neck,  into  the  steady  thrust. 
The  long  pole  bent  under  the  weight,  curved  vali- 
antly —  and  broke  clean  with  a  report  like  a  rifle 
shot.  David  was  flung  outward,  struggling  to  re- 
gain his  balance;  and,  at  the  same  moment,  the 
canoe  swung  side-on  to  the  roaring  water  and  then 
rolled  over. 

David  Marsh  fought  the  whirling,  buffeting 
waters  with  frantic  energy.  He  was  struggling  for 
his  life.  That  was  his  only  thought.  He  struck 
out  to  steady  himself,  to  keep  clear  of  the  boiling 
eddies  where  the  black  rocks  seemed  to  lift  and 
sink,  and  to  keep  his  head  above  the  smother.  The 


70  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

beating,  roaring,  and  slopping  of  the  rapids  almost 
deafened  him,  and  filled  him  with  a  shuddering 
dread  of  those  raging,  clamorous  surfaces,  and 
silent,  spinning  depths.  Now  he  saw  the  clear, 
blue  sky  with  a  hawk  adrift  in  the  sunshine  —  and 
now  he  glimpsed  one  shore  or  the  other,  with  dark 
green  of  spruce,  and  a  spot  or  two  of  frost-bitten 
red  —  and  now  black  sinews  and  twisting  ribbons 
crossed  his  vision,  and  torn  spray  beat  against  his 
sight  with  white  hands.  The  deathly  chill  of  the 
water  bit  into  blood  and  bone. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  smothered,  spun 
and  hammered  in  this  hell  of  choking  tumult  for 
hours.  At  last  the  roar  and  clatter  began  to  soften 
in  his  ears  —  to  soften  and  sweeten  to  a  low  song. 
Wonderful  lights  swam  across  his  eyes  —  red, 
clearest  green,,  and  the  blue  of  the  rainbow.  A 
swift,  grinding  agony  in  his  right  arm  aroused  him. 
He  was  among  the  rocks  at  the  tail  of  the  rapids. 
For  a  minute  he  fought  desperately;  and  then  he 
dragged  himself  out  of  the  shouting  river  and  lay 
still. 

Marsh  was  young  and  strong,  and  had  not  swal- 
lowed a  serious  amount  of  water.  For  ten  min- 
utes he  lay  under  the  leafless  willows,  unconsciously 
struggling  for  his  breath.  Then  he  sat  up,  swayed 


Doctor  Nash's  Suspicions  71 

dizzily,  and  screamed  suddenly  with  the  pain  in 
his  arm.  It  was  that  excruciating  pain,  burning 
and  stabbing  from  wrist  to  shoulder,  that  brought 
him  fully  to  his  senses.  He  staggered  to  his  feet 
and  gazed  up  and  down  the  bright  course  of  the 
river.  He  shivered  with  cold  and  weakness. 

"  Arm  smashed ! "  he  cried,  almost  sobbing. 
"Outfit  lost!  My  God!" 

He  sank  again,  easing  himself  to  the  ground  by 
the  willows  with  his  left  hand.  With  the  bandanna 
handkerchief  from  his  neck,  a  piece  of  cord  from 
his  pocket,  a  few  handfuls  of  dry  grass,  and  a  thin 
slip  of  driftwood  he  made  a  rough  support  for  his 
arm  and  fastened  it  securely  to  his  side.  This  took 
him  fully  half  an  hour,  and  caused  him  intense 
pain  and  severe  nervous  fatigue.  He  was  shaking 
and  gasping  by  the  time  it  was  done  —  yes,  and 
on  the  verge  of  tears. 

"  The  pole  broke,"  he  whimpered.  "  And  it  was 
a  good  pole  —  the  best  I  could  find.  It  never  hap- 
pened before." 

He  got  to  his  feet  again,  and  started  painfully 
along  the  shore.  The  bank  was  steep,  with  only 
a  narrow  fringe  of  rocky  beach.  In  some  places 
the  overhanging  thicket  forced  him  to  wade  knee- 
deep  in  the  water.  He  stumbled  along,  groaning 


72  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

with  the  pain  of  his  arm.  His  cheeks  were  blood- 
less under  the  tan,  and  there  was  a  haunted  look 
in  his  eyes.  Fear  still  gripped  him  —  not  the  vio- 
lent, sickening  horror  that  he  had  felt  while  strug- 
gling in  the  eddies  of  the  rapid,  but  a  quiet,  vague 
fear  that  he  could  give  no  name  to. 

Marsh  rested  for  a  few  minutes  on  a  little  grassy 
flat  at  the  mouth  of  the  Teakettle.  By  this  time 
the  sun,  and  his  own  exertions,  had  warmed  him 
a  little;  but  still  the  shadow  of  fear  was  in  his 
eyes.  "  It  was  a  strong  pole,"  he  kept  muttering. 
"  I  cut  it  myself  —  and  tested  it.  How  did  it  come 
to  break ! " 

He  found  the  footing  along  the  smaller  stream 
even  more  difficult  than  that  which  he  had  left 
behind.  Both  banks  were  flanked  with  impene- 
trable snarls  of  underbrush  that  overhung  the 
gliding  current,  and  so  he  was  forced  to  wade, 
knee-deep.  The  bottom  was  rocky  and  slippery, 
and  the  swift  water  dragged  mercilessly  at  his 
weary  legs.  He  advanced  slowly,  painfully,  a  piti- 
ful figure.  Sometimes  he  stumbled,  almost  fell, 
and  jarred  his  shattered  arm  in  his  recovery. 
Sometimes  he  groaned.  Sometimes  he  cursed 
aloud.  "  My  luck's  gone !  "  he  cried.  "  The  pole 
broke  on  me  —  and  it  was  a  good  pole.  Never 


"  HE  ADVANCED  SLOWLY,  PAINFULLY,   A  PITIFUL  FIGURE. 


Doctor  Nash's  Suspicions  73 

broke  a  pole  before!  Never  got  spilled  before! 
Something  damn  queer  about  that ! "  He  was 
forced  to  rest  frequently,  sitting  on  a  stranded  log 
or  flat  rock,  or  perhaps  standing  and  clinging  to 
the  alders  and  willows.  His  arm  ached  numbly 
now.  Now  showers  of  silver  sparks  streamed 
across  his  vision,  and  again  he  saw  little  blue  and 
red  dots  dancing  in  the  sunlight. 

It  took  him  a  long  time  to  cover  the  three  miles 
from  the  mouth  of  the  Teakettle  up  to  the  little 
camp  that  he  had  sped  so  swiftly  away  from  early 
that  morning.  It  was  long  past  noon  when  he 
dragged  himself  up  the  steep  path,  unfastened  the 
door,  and  stumbled  into  the  shack.  After  a  few 
minutes'  rest  on  the  floor,  he  managed  to  light  a 
fire  in  the  stove  and  put  a  kettle  of  water  on  to 
boil.  He  needed  tea  —  tea,  hot  and  strong.  That 
would  pull  him  together  for  the  twelve-mile  jour- 
ney that  lay  between  him  and  Doctor  Nash.  But 
he'd  lie  down  until  the  water  boiled.  He  pulled 
off  his  moccasins  and  crawled  into  a  bunk,  drawing 
two  pairs  of  heavy  blankets  over  him.  He  was 
too  tired  to  think  —  too  tired  even  to  continue  his 
whimpering  and  cursing.  After  a  minute  he  dozed 
off. 

David  Marsh  was  awakened  shortly  by  a  touch 


74  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

on  his  injured  arm.  He  yelled  with  the  pain  of 
it  even  before  he  opened  his  eyes.  Then  he  stared, 
for  there  stood  a  young  woman  named  Maggie 
Leblanc,  gazing  at  him  in  astonishment.  She  was 
a  fine-looking  young  woman  in  a  striking,  but 
rather  coarse  red  and  black  way.  She  was  roughly 
dressed,  and  had  an  old  muzzle-loading  gun  by  her 
side,  and  five  partridges  hanging  at  her  belt.  She 
was  the  eldest  of  many  children  belonging  to  a 
worthless  couple  who  lived  about  two  miles  from 
the  Marsh  farm,  in  a  poor  community  called 
French  Corner.  It  was  in  that  same  part 
of  the  settlement  that  Dick  Goodine's  mother 
lived. 

"  Hell !  "  exclaimed  Marsh.  "  Where'd  you  come 
from,  Maggie?  " 

"What  are  you  yelling  about?"  asked  the  girl. 
"  An'  what  are  you  layin'  there  for,  this  time  o' 
day?" 

"  I'm  hurt,"  returned  David.  "  My  arm  is  broke, 
I  guess."  Then  he  told  her  all  about  his  morning's 
misfortune. 

"  And  Dick  Goodine  was  here,  was  he !  "  cried 
the  girl.  "  He  helped  you  load  the  canoe,  did  he ! 
And  then  your  pole  broke!  Are  you  good  friends 
with  Dick  Goodine  ?  " 


Doctor  Nash's  Suspicions  75 

David  looked  at  her  eagerly.  "  Not  particular," 
he  answered.  "  What  are  you  drivin'  at  ?  " 

"  He's  after  your  girl,  ain't  he?  "  she  asked,  her 
black  eyes  glistening. 

"Look  here,  what  are  you  drivin'  at,  Maggie?" 

She  came  close  to  the  edge  of  the  bunk.  "  Maybe 
he  knows  what  made  the  pole  break !  I've  heard  o' 
that  trick  before.  He  put  it  in  the  canoe  for  you, 
didn't  he?" 

"  Yes !  "  cried  the  young  man  furiously.  ''  Yes, 
he  did.  Damn  him!  —  if  he  played  that  dirty  trick 
on  me." 

"  You  lay  quiet,"  said  Maggie  Leblanc.  "  I'll 
cook  you  a  bite  o'  dinner,  an'  then  I'll  light  out  for 
Doctor  Nash.  You  ain't  fit  to  travel  another  step." 


CHAPTER   VI 

DAVID  TAKES  A   MISFORTUNE  IN  A  POOR  SPIRIT 

DAVID  drank  tea,  Maggie  Leblanc  holding 
the  tin  mug  to  his  lips.  The  pain  in  his  arm 
became  more  intense  as  his  strength  returned.  His 
temper  was  raw.  He  refused  the  bacon  which  the 
girl  fried  for  him. 

"  Hell ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  feel  too  bad  to  eat. 
I  feel  like  the  very  devil,  Maggie.  Arm  busted, 
canoe  and  outfit  lost !  Hell !  " 

"  I  guess  that  skunk,  Dick  Goodine,  done  you 
pretty  brown,"  remarked  the  girl.  "  Dick's  cute. 
Always  was.  He  bested  you  just  like  he'd  best  a 
mink  or  a  fox.  You  ain't  no  match  for  Dick 
Goodine,  Davy." 

David  Marsh  cursed  bitterly. 

"That  durn  half-breed!"  he  cried.  "Me  no 
match  for  him!  You  wait  and  see,  Maggie.  I'll 
get  square  with  him,  one  of  these  days." 

"  Dick  ain't  no  half-breed,"  retorted  the  girl. 
"  He's  French  and  English  —  and  that  mixture 

76 


A  Misfortune  77 


don't  made  a  breed.  Got  to  have  Injin  blood,  like 
me,  to  make  a  breed." 

"  Injin  blood's  better'n  his  mixture,"  said  David. 
"  Hell,  yes !  Dick  Goodine's  pure  skunk.  But  I'll 
do  him  yet.  You  just  watch,  Maggie.  Arm  busted! 
Canoe  busted  and  outfit  sunk!  He'll  pay  me  for 
that." 

''  You  think  a  heap  o'  yer  money,  Davy,"  said 
Maggie  Leblanc. 

"  You  go  get  the  doctor,"  returned  the  young 
woodsman  sullenly,  "  and  leave  my  affairs  alone. 
Money?  Well,  I  guess  I  make  it  hard  enough. 
You  go  'long  now,  Maggie,  like  a  good  girl,  and 
get  Doctor  Nash  —  or  maybe  I'll  never  have  the 
use  o'  this  arm  again.  It's  stiffenin'  up  terrible 
quick.  I'll  make  it  worth  yer  while,  Maggie.  Five 
dollars!  How'll  five  dollars  do ?" 

"  I'm  goin',"  answered  Maggie.  "  But  you  keep 
yer  money.  I  don't  want  yer  five  dollars.  I'll 
fetch  the  doc,  and  I'll  help  you  get  square  with 
that  skunk  Dick  Goodine,  all  for  nothin'.  You 
bet!  Lay  still,  now,  and  I'll  light  out  for  the  settle- 
ment." 

"  I  thought  you  was  sweet  on  Dick  Goodine ; 
but  you  don't  seem  much  that  way  now,  Maggie. 
What's  he  bin  doin'  to  you?"  asked  David. 


78  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  Yer  mind  yer  own  business,  Davy  Marsh," 
retorted  the  young  woman,  "  and  don't  you  give 
none  o'  yer  cheek  to  me.  I'm  helpin'  you,  ain't  I? 
Then  mind  yer  manners !  " 

Then,  with  a  toss  of  her  handsome  head,  she 
hurried  from  the  shack. 

Left  alone  under  that  low  roof  in  the  quiet  forest, 
with  the  afternoon  sunshine  flooding  in  by  open 
door  and  window,  David  gave  his  mind  unreserv- 
edly to  his  accident,  considering  it  from  many 
points  of  view.  He  had  accepted  Maggie  Leblanc's 
suggestion  without  question  —  that  Goodine  had 
caused  the  disaster  by  injuring  his  canoe  pole  in 
some  way.  Now,  alone  in  the  silent  forest,  he 
thought  of  the  marks  on  the  card,  and  remembered 
the  story  that  Jim  Harley  had  confided  to  him.  It 
was  foolishness,  of  course,  to  set  any  store  by  two 
red  crosses  on  a  playing  card  —  and  yet  —  and 
yet 

Queer  things  happen,  he  reflected.  The  devil  still 
takes  a  hand  in  the  games  of  men.  The  idea  of 
the  blow  being  the  work  of  a  supernatural  agency, 
directed  by  the  marked  card,  grew  upon  him.  But 
even  so,  what  more  likely  than  that  Dick  Goodine 
had  cut  his  canoe  pole  —  had  been  chosen  as  the 
instrument  of  fate?  One  has  strange  fancies  when 


A  Misfortune  79 


lying  faint  and  hurt  in  a  silent  wilderness,  in  a 
golden,  empty  afternoon. 

The  sunlight  gradually  died  away  from  window 
and  door.  David  thought  of  his  loss  and  counted 
the  money  that  would  slip  from  his  fingers,  owing 
to  the  broken  arm.  This  was  bitter  food  for  the 
mind  of  such  a  man  as  David  Marsh.  Mr.  Banks, 
the  rich  and  generous  American  sportsman,  would 
soon  be  at  Samson's  Mill  Settlement  —  only,  alas, 
for  the  profit  of  some  other  than  the  unfortunate 
Davy.  It  was  a  hard  fact  to  consider,  but  at  last 
the  sullen  young  man  fell  asleep  with  the  weight 
of  it  on  his  mind. 

He  dreamed  of  a  life-and-death  struggle  with  a 
Spanish  count,  who  looked  like  Dick  Goodine 
dressed  up  in  queer  clothes.  The  Spanish  noble- 
man ran  a  knife  into  his  arm  and  the  pain  was 
sickening.  The  count  vanished,  and  beside  him 
stood  a  young  man  in  a  blue  coat  with  brass  but- 
tons, whom  they  called  Jackson.  This  Mr.  Jackson 
had  a  terrible  leer  on  his  face,  and  a  huge  pistol 
in  his  right  hand.  Seizing  David  by  the  collar, 
he  hammered  him  with  the  pistol  upon  the  wound 
made  by  the  Spaniard's  knife.  David  yelled  with 
the  pain  of  it  —  and  woke  up!  Above  him  leaned 
Doctor  Nash,  holding  a  lantern,  and  with  a  ringer 


80  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

on  the  broken  arm.  "  Quit  it !  "  cried  David.  "  Quit 
it,  doc!  That's  the  busted  place  yer  pinchin'." 

A  painful  period  of  twenty  minutes  followed, 
and  at  the  end  of  it  David's  arm  was  in  splints 
and  bandages,  and  David's  face  was  absolutely 
colorless.  Nash  brought  him  'round  with  a  long 
drink  of  brandy. 

"  Hell !  "  said  David.  "  That's  all  I  want  to  see 
of  you  for  the  rest  o'  my  life,  doc." 

The  doctor  grinned,  mopped  his  heated  brow, 
and  set  the  lantern  on  the  table.  "  Oh,  that's  noth- 
ing," he  said.  "Booh!  I've  done  ten  times  as 
much  as  that  before  breakfast.  Keep  still,  now, 
and  give  it  a  chance.  Your  arm  will  be  as  good 
as  new  in  a  few  months." 

David  groaned.     Nash  built  up  the  fire. 

"  I'm  hungry,"  he  said.  "  Where  d'you  keep 
your  grub?  Got  anything  fit  to  eat?  " 

"  I  reckon  yes,"  returned  the  woodsman. 
'  There's  plenty  of  grub  in  this  camp,  and  every 
durn  ounce  of  it  is  fit  for  anybody  to  eat.  Well, 
I  guess!  There's  eggs  in  that  there  box  on  the 
floor,  and  bacon  in  the  cupboard,  and  tea  and  coffee, 
and  everything.  Help  yourself,  doc.  It  was  bought 
to  feed  Mr.  Banks  —  so  I  guess  you'll  find  it  good 
enough  for  you." 


A  Misfortune  81 


"  Don't  get  excited,  David,"  retorted  the  doctor. 
"  Keep  your  hair  on,  or  maybe  you'll  keep  your 
arm  from  knitting." 

He  cooked  a  good  meal,  gave  a  little  of  it  to 
his  patient,  and  devoured  the  choicer,  and  by  far 
the  larger,  share  of  it  himself.  Then  he  lit  his 
pipe  and  drew  a  stool  close  up  to  the  bunk  in  which 
David  lay. 

''  You  are  not  fit  to  move  to-night,"  he  said, 
"  so  I'll  stay  here  and  take  you  in  to-morrow 
morning.  I  managed  to  get  my  rig  through 
the  mud-holes  without  breaking  anything,  I 
guess." 

David  moved  his  feet  uneasily. 

"  Guess  you'll  be  chargin'  me  pretty  heavy  for 
this,  doc,"  he  returned. 

"  Don't  you  worry,"  returned  Nash.  "  I'll  only 
charge  what's  fair,  Davy.  Of  course  it  was 
quite  a  serious  operation,  and  a  long  drive  —  but 
don't  you  worry." 

He  drew  at  his  pipe  for  a  little  while  in  silence. 
At  last  he  said :  "  Maggie  Leblanc  tells  me  it  was 
Dick  Goodine  who  worked  the  dirty  trick  on  you. 
Is  that  so?" 

"  I  guess  so.  Don't  see  what  else.  The  pole 
was  a  good  one,  far's  I  know." 


82  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  What's  the  trouble  between  you  and  Dick  ?  I 
didn't  know  he  was  that  kind." 

"  Well,  we  had  an  argyment  a  while  back. 
Nothin'  serious;  but  he's  a  spiteful  kind  of  cuss. 
Dirty  blood  in  him,  I  guess." 

Nash  nodded.  "  And  perhaps  you  think  the 
marks  on  that  card  had  something  to  do  with  it. 
Isn't  that  so,  Davy?  I  guess  Jim  Harley  has  told 
you  what  those  marks  mean." 

"  That's  all  durned  foolishness.  Marks  on  a 
card!  How'd  them  little  crosses  break  my  pole 
and  upset  me  into  the  rapids  ?  " 

"  Sounds  fine,  Davy;  but  you  are  scared  of  that 
marked  card,  all  the  same.  Don't  lie  to  me  — 
for  it's  no  use.  I  think  the  marks  on  the  card 
have  something  to  do  with  your  broken  arm." 

"  How,  doc  ?  No,  yer  foolin' !  Yer  tryin'  to  make 
game  of  me.  I  ain't  a  scholar,  like  you,  doc,  but 
I  ain't  fool  enough  to  believe  in  ghosts,  just  the 
same." 

"  I  am  not  saying  anything  about  ghosts,  Davy. 
You  just  keep  your  hair  on,  and  I'll  tell  you  what 
I  think.  In  the  first  place,  just  remember  that  I 
am  a  man  with  a  trained  mind  and  a  wide 
knowledge  of  life." 

"  Guess  yer   right,   doc.      Fire   away !  " 


A  Misfortune  83 


"Jim  Harley  told  you  that,  long  story  of  his 
about  his  grandmother  ?  " 

"  That's  so." 

"  Do  you  believe  it?  " 

"  Maybe  I  do  —  and  maybe  I  don't.  What's 
that  to  you?  " 

"Of  course  you  believe  it!  That's  because  your 
mind  is  untrained,  and  you  don't  know  anything 
of  the  ways  of  the  world." 

"  You  just  leave  my  mind  alone,  doc.  It  ain't 
hurtin'  you,  I  guess.  You  talk  as  if  I  hadn't  any 
more  brains  than  a  sheep." 

Nash  grinned,  and  rubbed  his  long  hands  briskly 
together.  He  enjoyed  this  sort  of  thing. 

"  Right  you  are.  You  believe  Jim's  story  — 
and  I  don't.  What  I  think  is  this:  Jim  Harley 
marked  the  card,  dealt  it  to  you,  and  then  invented 
the  yarn.  He  is  trying  to  scare  you  away  —  away 
from  fooling  around  his  sister." 

"  You  just  let  his  sister  alone,  doc !  And  mind 
yer  own  business,  too !  " 

"  Keep  cool,  my  boy.  Well,  he  scares  you  a  bit 
with  his  story.  Then  he  has  a  talk  to  Dick 
Goodine.  He  knows  Dick  and  you  are  not  very 
good  friends.  So  he  fixes  Dick,  and  Dick  fixes 
your  canoe  pole  —  and  there  you  are !  Jim  and 


84  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

Dick  do  the  busting,  and  I  do  the  mending.  What 
do  you  think  of  that?" 

"  Durned  foolishness !  "  retorted  David.  "  Maybe 
Goodine  done  it;  but  Jim  didn't  set  him  to  it. 
I  guess  I  know  Jim  Harley  a  durn  sight  better'n 
you  do." 

"  Oh,  yes !  You  are  a  devilish  clever  chap,  David 
—  in  your  own  opinion.  Just  the  same,  my  smart 
young  friend,  take  the  hint  from  me  and  stop  think- 
ing about  Nell  Harley.  You  are  not  wanted 
'round  that  vicinity,  and  if  Jim  can't  scare  you 
away  with  his  card  trick  and  his  silly  story,  he'll 
scare  you  with  something  else." 

David  Marsh  was  raging;  but  he  was  helpless 
in  the  bunk,  with  a  broken  arm  to  remember.  He 
swore  like  the  proverbial  trooper  —  and  Doctor 
Nash  sat  and  smoked,  with  his  sneering  grin  broad 
on  his  fat  face.  He  did  not  say  a  word  in  reply  to 
the  woodsman's  tirade.  At  last  David  lay  back 
weakly,  breathless,  and  empty  of  oaths.  Nash  re- 
filled his  pipe. 

'  Think  it  over  quietly,"  he  said.  "  Are  the  red 
marks  after  you?  Or  is  Dick  Goodine  after  you, 
on  his  own  trick?  Or  is  Jim  Harley  working  a  game 
on  you?  Think  it  over,  Davy,  and  don't  swear 
at  your  friends." 


A  Misfortune  85 


David's  reply  was  a  grunt;  but  he  spent  half 
the  night  in  thinking  it  over.  The  harder  he 
thought  the  more  hopelessly  confused  he  be- 
came. 

During  the  drive  to  the  Marsh  farm  next  morn- 
ing, Doctor  Nash  carefully  avoided  the  subject  of 
the  marked  cards  and  his  suspicions.  As  there  was 
not  much  else  to  talk  of  in  Samson's  Mill  Settle- 
ment, just  then,  the  drive  was  a  quiet  one.  After 
helping  his  patient  into  the  house  the  doctor  drove 
away. 

Jim  Harley  came  over  to  see  David  in  the  after- 
noon. The  sufferer  received  him  with  open  sus- 
picion, but  Harley's  manner  soon  drove  the  shadow 
away.  He  listened  to  the  story  of  the  accident 
with  every  sign  of  distress,  and  was  impressed  by 
the  fact  that  Dick  Goodine  had  helped  load  and 
launch  the  canoe.  He  knew  that  David  and  the 
trapper  were  not  on  friendly  terms,  and  he  believed 
the  latter  to  be  dangerously  quick-tempered;  but 
he  could  scarcely  bring  himself  to  believe  that  he 
would  carry  a  grudge  so  far  as  to  endanger  a  man's 
life. 

"  Have  you  and  Dick  had  words  about  anything 
else?"  he  asked,  "anything  more  than  that  argu- 
ment about  guiding  sportsmen  ?  " 


86  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  I  guess  he  holds  something  else  against  me," 
admitted  the  guide. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  have  you  ever  done  to 
him?  "  asked  Harley. 

David  shifted  about  uneasily  in  his  chair,  and 
became  very  red  in  the  face.  In  the  depth  of  his 
heart  he  feared  Jim  Harley. 

"  I  ain't  done  anything  to  him,"  he  said  falter- 
ingly.  "I  —  I  ain't  said  one  uncivil  word  to  him, 
except  that  time  we  had  the  tongue  fight.  He  just 
don't  like  me,  that's  all.  He  don't  like  me  because 
I'm  a  smarter  guide  than  him,  and  get  hold  of  all 
the  rich  sports;  and  —  and  I  guess  he  thinks  — 
well,  he  thinks " 

"What?  What  does  he  think?"  demanded 
Harley. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Jim,  he  —  I  guess  he  kinder 
thinks  I've  got  the  —  the  inside  track,  so  to  speak." 

"  Inside  track  ?  You  mean  with  the  sportsmen  ? 
You  have  the  best  camps,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
I  guess  he's  right,  Davy." 

'  That  ain't  just  exactly  what  I  mean,  Jim.  I 
ain't  talking  about  guidin'  and  campin'  now. 
Lookee  here,  you  know  as  how  I'm  kinder  —  well, 
as  how  I  am  almighty  fond  o'  Nell.  You  know 
that,  Jim,  for  I've  told  you  before.  Well,  Dick 


A  Misfortune  87 


Goodine's  struck  a  bit  that  way,  too,  far's  I  can 
make  out  Burned  cheek;  but  that's  the  truth. 
So  I  guess  that's  maybe  why  he's  got  an  axe  be- 
hind his  back  for  me." 

Jim  Harley  sighed  and  shook  his  head  mourn- 
fully. 

"I  hadn't  thought  about  that,"  he  said;  "but 
now  that  you  mention  it,  Davy,  I  see  that  it  may 
be  so.  I've  always  found  Dick  a  good-hearted 
fellow  —  but  I  guess  he  goes  on  the  rip  now  and 
again.  Not  extra  steady  —  and  not  the  kind  to 
marry  my  sister.  He's  not  steady,  you  see  —  and 
he's  so  danged  ignorant." 

Jim  made  these  last  remarks  in  a  low,  reflective 
voice,  as  if  he  were  talking  only  to  himself.  Tone 
and  words  fanned  David's  old  suspicions  into  sud- 
den flame. 

"  Yes,  he's  danged  ignorant !  "  he  cried.  "  Danged 
ignorant,  just  like  me.  That's  what  you  mean, 
ain't  it?  You  don't  want  Nell  to  marry  a  bush- 
whacker like  Dick  Goodine  —  nor  like  me.  That's 
about  right,  ain't  it,  Jim?  My  first  guess  was 
right  t'other  night,  I  do  believe." 

Harley  stared  at  him  in  angry  amazement. 

"  You  are  talking  like  a  blasted  fool ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  You  were  on  the  same  string  before, 


88  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

and  I  went  to  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to  set  you 
right.  Too  much  trouble,  I  see  now.  But  I  tell 
you  again,  if  I  objected  seriously  to  you,  David, 
you'd  damn  soon  know  it.  You  make  me  tired." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  rile  you,  Jim,"  returned  the 
guide,  "  but  what  with  the  gnawin'  pain  in  my  arm, 
and  —  and  that  story  you  told  me  about  them  marks 
on  the  card  —  and  them  marks  being  dealt  to  me 
- 1  tell  you,  Jim,  I  don't  feel  easy.  I  feel  jumpy 
as  a  cat.  Here  I  am  with  my  arm  busted  already, 
and  a  canoe  and  outfit  gone  clear  to  the  devil.  I 
never  lost  a  canoe  before  —  nor  bust  my  arm  be- 
fore." 

"  I  am  sorry,  David.  I  am  mighty  sorry,"  said 
Harley.  "  It  is  hard  luck,  no  mistake  about  that, 
but  all  I  can  say  is,  I  don't  wish  you  any  harm, 
and  never  have.  If  you  think  Goodine  is  laying 
for  you,  keep  your  eye  on  him.  If  you  think 
there  is  anything  in  those  marks  on  the  card  — 
well,  you  know  the  story.  Act  as  you  think  best 
for  yourself,  Davy." 

"  Thankee.  I'll  keep  my  eye  skinned ;  but  I  tell 
you  now,  Jim,  I  ain't  scart  o'  them  marks  on  the 
card.  I  believe  all  you  told  me  —  but  I  guess  it 
was  just  luck  that  brought  them  marks  to  this 
settlement  and  handed  them  out  to  me.  I  don't 


A  Misfortune  89 


think  fer  one  minute  they  busted  my  arm  or  upset 
my  canoe." 

After  the  evening  meal,  Jim  Harley  visited 
Rayton.  The  Englishman  was  in  his  sitting  room, 
writing  letters  before  a  good  fire.  He  pushed  his 
papers  aside  and  received  his  visitor  with  that  man- 
ner of  perfect  hospitality  which  was  as  natural  to 
him  as  his  frequent  laughter.  He  had  already 
heard  rumors  of  David's  accident,  but  when  Jim 
told  the  full  story,  he  replied  in  forceful  terms 
that  Dick  Goodine  had  no  part  in  it. 

"  But  it  looks  queer,"  persisted  Jim  Harley. 

"  Looks !  "  retorted  the  Englishman.  "  My  dear 
Harley,  didn't  a  canoe  pole  ever  break  before?  Is 
this  the  first  man  who  ever  smashed  his  arm? 
Rot!  I  know  Goodine,  and  he's  the  right  sort. 
He's  a  man." 

Harley  had  great  faith  in  Reginald  Rayton's 
opinions;  but  he  could  not  get  his  suspicions  of 
the  trapper  out  of  his  head. 

"  Don't  think  any  more  about  it,"  urged 
his  host.  "  You  might  as  well  suspect  Ben  Sam- 
son —  or  old  Wigmore.  Drop  it  —  and  have  a 
drink." 

So  Jim  dropped  it  and  had  a  drink.  But  he  was 
worried  and  preoccupied  throughout  the  evening. 


90  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

When  he  was  about  to  leave,  however,  he  shook 
himself  together. 

"If  you  are  ever  lonely,"  he  said,  "  come  over 
and  see  us." 

"  Thanks  very  much,"  returned  Rayton,  gripping 
his  hand.     "  I  get  a  bit  lonely,  sometimes.     Ah  — 
perhaps  you'll  see  me  to-morrow  night,  if  that  will 
be  convenient." 

At  that  moment  Turk  jumped  to  his  feet, 
tittered  a  low  growl,  and  ran  to  the  window. 
Rayton  jumped  after  him  and  snatched  the  curtain 
aside.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen,  though  a  pale 
half-moon  was  shining  clearly. 

'  That's  queer,"  said  Rayton.  "  Turk  never 
gives  false  alarms." 


CHAPTER   VII 

MR.   BANKS  TAKES  A   HAND  IN   THE  GAME 

MR.  HARVEY  P.  BANKS,  of  New  York,  was  an 
angry  and  dejected  man  when  he  arrived  at 
Samson's  Mill  Settlement,  only  to  learn  that  his 
guide  of  several  past  seasons  —  in  fact,  the  only 
available  professional  guide  in  the  district  —  was 
laid  up  with  a  broken  arm.  He  poured  the  full 
stream  of  his  wrath  upon  the  unfortunate  David 
Marsh.  He  was  a  big  man  —  tall,  thick,  broad,  and 
big  of  face  and  hand,  big  of  voice,  foot,  and  outlook 
upon  life  —  and  his  size  seemed  to  fill  the  little 
farmhouse  bedroom  and  press  poor  David  against 
the  wall.  After  expressing  himself  at  length,  he 
asked  why  the  guide  had  not  wired  to  him,  so  as 
to  give  him  time  to  make  other  arrangements. 

Now  that  was  a  question  that  David  had  asked 
himself,  too  late.  He  answered  truthfully,  his 
courage  reviving  as  he  realized  that  his  excuse  was 
a  pretty  good  one.  He  told  of  his  accident  in  de- 
tail, of  his  suspicion  of  Dick  Goodine,  and  then, 

91 


92  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

after  another  question  or  two,  he  went  back  and 
described  the  game  of  poker,  the  marked  card,  and 
told  Jim  Harley's  story.  Thus  he  explained  a  state 
of  mind  that  had  turned  big  business  considerations 
into  unimportant  shadows  and  meaningless  whis- 
perings. 

Through  it  all  Mr.  Harvey  P.  Banks  sat  in  a 
splint-bottomed  chair  —  bulging  generously  over 
the  edges  of  the  seat  —  smoking  a  long  cigar,  and 
gazing  unblinkingly  at  the  young  woodsman.  He 
nodded  his  big  head  when  David  finished,  and 
flipped  a  two-inch  white  ash  from  the  end  of  his 
cigar  to  the  hooked  mat  at  his  feet. 

1  That's  good  enough  for  me,  Marsh,"  he  said. 
"  I  take  back  the  hard  names  I  called  you  a  few 
minutes  ago.  No  wonder  you  forgot  to  send  me  a 
wire." 

He  turned  his  head  and  gazed  through  the 
window  at  a  field  of  buckwheat  stubble,  rusty-red, 
and  a  green-black  wall  of  spruces  and  firs. 

"  Jim  Harley  told  you  the  story,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  Jim  Harley.  Doctor  Nash  don't  be- 
lieve it." 

"  Nash  be  blowed !  And  you  say  Jim  acted  very 
strangely  when  he  saw  the  marks  on  the  card  in 
your  hand." 


Mr.  Banks  Takes  a  Hand  93 

"Yes,  sir;  he  acted  mighty  queer.  Doctor  Nash 
says  it  was  all  a  bluff,  though." 

"T'hell  with  Nash!  How  did  the  others  take 
the  sight  of  the  red  crosses?" 

"  Quiet  enough,  sir.  They  was  all  took  up  with 
Jim's  queer  look  and  words." 

"And  Rayton?" 

"  He  just  looked  like  an  astonished  horse,  Mr. 
Banks.  That's  his  natural  look." 

"  And  Captain  Wigmore  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  didn't  bother  him  none,  you  can  bet  yer 
hat  on  that." 

Mr.  Banks  nodded  again.  "  It  wouldn't,"  he 
said  reflectively.  "  A  mark  on  a  card  wouldn't 
interest  that  old  clam,  I  imagine,  unless  it  was 
on  the  back,  where  it  might  be  of  some  use  to 
him." 

He  asked  several  more  questions  about  the 
chances  of  obtaining  good  heads  of  moose  and  cari- 
bou in  the  Beaver  Brook,  Teakettle,  and  Dan's 
River  country  this  season,  talked  of  past  adven- 
tures which  he  had  shared  with  the  young  woods- 
man, and  slipped  in  more  than  one  query  concern- 
ing Maggie  Leblanc.  Then,  promising  to  see  David 
again  in  a  day  or  two,  he  lit  another  cigar  and 
took  his  departure. 


94  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

Ten  minutes  later,  on  the  road,  Harvey  P.  Banks 
met  Reginald  Baynes  Ray  ton.  The  Englishman 
wore  his  oldest  pair  of  breeches,  but  their  cut  was 
undeniable.  Banks'  eyes  were  sharp,  though  their 
expression  was  usually  exceedingly  mild. 

'  You  are  Mr.  Rayton,  who  is  farming  the  old 
Bill  Hooker  place,  I  am  sure,"  he  said. 

"  Yes.  And  you  are  Mr.  Banks,  of  New  York, 
I'm  quite  positive,"  returned  Rayton,  lifting  a 
shabby  felt  hat,  and  laughing  pleasantly.  There  was 
nothing  to  laugh  at  —  but  Reginald  had  a  way  of 
laughing  politely  at  everything  and  nothing.  It 
meant  nothing,  but  it  covered  profound  mean- 
ings. 

Mr.  Banks  returned  the  unexpected  salute  with 
a  fine  gesture  of  his  tweed  cap,  and  then  the  two 
shook  hands. 

"  I  have  just  been  to  see  poor  David  Marsh," 
said  Banks.  "  I  blew  him  up  pretty  high,  at  first, 
but  I  melted  when  I  heard  what  he  has  on  his 
mind." 

"  Yes,  he  seems  to  be  in  a  funk  about  one  thing 
and  another,"  returned  Rayton.  "  But  it  is  rough 
on  you,  too.  But  —  ah  —  I  think  I  can  help  you 
—  if  you  don't  consider  it  cheeky  of  me  to  —  to 
make  a  suggestion." 


Mr.  Banks  Takes  a  Hand  95 

"  Cheeky !  My  dear  Mr.  Rayton,  I'll  bless  you 
for  a  likely  suggestion." 

"  Then  let  me  put  you  on  to  some  good  shooting. 
I  know  this  country  fairly  well,  considering  I'm 
a  new  settler,  and  this  is  my  slack  season  on  the 
farm.  I  can  help  you  to  a  couple  of  good  heads, 
I'm  positive.  We  can  make  my  house  our  head- 
quarters, for  the  game  is  very  close  in  this  year. 
The  house  is  snug,  and  I  am  something  quite  special 
in  the  cooking  line.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  It  sounds  mighty  tempting,  but  —  well,  Mr. 
Rayton,  I  am  a  business  man,  and  I  like  to  see 
the  business  end  of  every  proposition  before  I  start 
in." 

Rayton  laughed  freely,  but  politely. 

"Of  course,"  he^said.  "I  am  a  farmer  —  and 
I  see  what  you  mean.  The  business  end  of  some 
propositions  is  like  the  hinder  end  of  a  wasp,  isn't 
it?  Hah-hah!  But  —  if  you  don't  mind  —  well, 
I  don't  see  how  we  can  put  any  business  end  to 
this.  Ah  —  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  just  to  con- 
sider yourself  my  guest.  Hope  you  don't  think 
it  cheeky  of  me!  " 

•"Well!  'Pon  my  word,  Mr.  Rayton,  you  are 
very  kind.  Why  should  you  befriend  me  like  this? 
It  is  astonishing." 


96  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  Not  at  all.  We  can  have  some  good  talks, 
you  see.  I  am  a  bit  lonely,  sometimes.  It  is  all 
serene,  isn't  it?  Good.  Where  are  your  traps? 
Come  along." 

So  they  turned  and  walked  side  by  side  along 
the  road  and  across  the  empty  fields  to  Rayton's 
house.  Mr.  Banks  glanced  frequently  and  wonder- 
ingly  at  his  new  friend.  Never  before,  in  all  his 
wide  and  active  life,  had  his  confidence  been  cap- 
tured so  quickly. 

"  And  he  seems  to  take  me  quite  as  a  matter  of 
course,"  he  reflected. 

That  afternoon  the  two  new  friends,  with  Turk's 
assistance,  shot  a  few  brace  of  woodcocks  and 
grouse,  in  quiet  swales  and  corners  around  the  out- 
skirts of  the  farm.  Then,  together,  they  cooked 
supper.  Shortly  after  supper,  while  they  were  play- 
ing a  game  of  chess,  and  smoking  two  of  Mr. 
Banks'  long  and  superior  cigars,  old  Captain 
Wigmore  knocked  on  the  front  door,  and  entered 
without  waiting  for  it  to  be  opened  for  him. 
Ray  ton  welcomed  him  as  affably  as  if  they  had 
last  parted  on  the  most  polite  terms.  He  intro- 
duced the  small  old  man  to  the  big  middle-aged 
one. 

"  We  have  met  before,"  said  the  captain. 


Mr.  Banks  Takes  a  Hand  97 

"  Yes,  I  knew  Captain  Wigmore  last  year,"  said 
Banks. 

Wigmore  accepted  a  cigar  from  the  New  York- 
er's bulging  case. 

"  That  is  the  real  thing  —  the  real  leaf,"  he  said. 
He  looked  at  the  chessmen. 

"  Reginald,  when  are  we  to  have  another  game 
of  poker?  I  am  sure  Mr.  Banks  plays  the  game 
of  his  nation.  We  must  sit  in  again  soon.  We 
must  not  be  frightened  away  from  a  harmless 
amusement  by  that  silly  trick  Jim  Harley  played 
on  us  a  few  nights  ago." 

Mr.  Banks  feigned  astonishment.  "  What  was 
the  trick  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  should  never  have  sus- 
pected Harley  of  playing  a  trick  —  especially  a 
card  trick.  He  has  always  seemed  to  me  a  very 
serious  chap." 

"  Rather  a  queer  thing  happened  a  few  nights 
ago,  while  we  were  playing  poker,  here,"  said  Ray- 
ton.  "  Captain  Wigmore  thinks  Harley  was  at  the 
bottom  of  it;  but  I  don't.  Tell  about  it,  captain." 

So  for  the  second  time,  Banks  heard  of  the  card 
marked  with  two  red  crosses  and  dealt  to  young 
David  Marsh.  He  watched  Wigmore  throughout 
the  telling  as  intently  as  he  had  watched  the  guide. 

"Very  interesting?     Jim  Harley  is  not  such  a 


98  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

serious  fellow  as  I  thought,"  he  said,  by  way  of 
comment.  And  that  was  all  until  after  Wigmore 
took  his  leave,  at  half-past  ten.  Wigmore  had  not 
mentioned  the  tradition  behind  the  two  red  marks. 
When  the  door  had  closed  upon  the  queer  old  cap- 
tain, Rayton  and  Banks  talked  for  nearly  an  hour 
about  Harley's  story  of  the  red  crosses,  and  David 
Marsh's  experience  of  them.  The  Englishman 
convinced  the  New  Yorker  that  Dick  Goodine  had 
played  no  part  in  David's  accident.  Mr.  Banks, 
like  Jim  Harley,  found  it  natural  to  accept  Rayton's 
readings  of  men  and  things. 

Mr.  Banks  lay  awake  in  his  comfortable  bed 
for  a  full  hour  after  turning  in,  his  mind  busy  with 
the  mystery  of  Samson's  Mill  Settlement.  He  de- 
cided that  whoever  marked  the  card  had  known 
the  tragic  story  of  the  Harley  family.  He  did 
not  take  much  stock  in  David's  accident.  That 
had  been  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  piece  of 
bad  luck.  Canoe  poles  break  frequently,  owing 
to  some  hidden  flaw  in  the  white  wood.  But  he 
felt  sure  that  the  two  red  crosses  on  the  face  of 
the  card  were  not  matters  of  chance. 

"  I'll  work  this  thing  out  if  it  drives  me  crazy. 
I  have  always  had  an  itch  to  do  a  bit  of  detective 
work,"  he  murmured. 


Mr.  Banks  Takes  a  Hand  99 

Then  he  sank  into  deep  and  peaceful  slum- 
ber. 

When  Banks  entered  the  kitchen  next  morning, 
at  an  early  hour,  he  found  the  porridge  neglected 
and  sullenly  boiling  over  the  brim  of  the  pot  onto 
the  top  of  the  stove,  and  his  host  standing  with 
drooped  shoulders  gazing  mournfully  at  a  five- foot 
length  of  spruce  pole  that  stood  in  the  corner. 
Banks  jumped  ponderously  and  rescued  the  por- 
ridge. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  he  asked.  "Are  you 
thinking  of  beating  some  one  with  that  stick?  " 

Rayton  laughed  joylessly.  "  This  is  too  bad !  " 
he  said.  "  Molly  Canadian,  the  busy  old  idiot, 
brought  this  in  to  me  only  a  few  minutes  ago. 
Silly  old  chump !  " 

"  What  is  it?   And  who  is  Molly  Canadian?  " 

"  She's  an  old  squaw  —  and  a  great  pal  of  mine. 
This  thing  is  a  piece  of  a  canoe  pole." 

"Ah!  Piece  of  a  pole.  Why  does  it  interest 
and  depress  you  so  ?  " 

"  She  found  it  at  the  foot  of  the  rapids  in  which 
young  Marsh  came  to  grief.  Yesterday,  she  says. 
If  you  look  at  the  broken  end  of  it  you'll  notice 
that  the  surface  is  remarkably  smooth  for  about 
halfway  across." 


100  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"Ah!  It  has  been  cut!  Cut  halfway  through! 
Do  you  think  it  is  David's  pole  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  the  one  he  broke.  It  was 
found  at  the  foot  of  the  rapids." 

Mr.  Banks  scratched  his  clean-shaven  chin. 

"  Looks  as  if  you  had  put  your  trust  in  a  lame 
horse,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  it  looks  that  way,"  admitted  the  English- 
man, "  but  I  don't  believe  Dick  Goodine  cut  that 
pole!  I  know  Goodine  —  but  I'm  not  so  sure  of 
this  pole.  Sounds  silly;  but  that's  the  way  I 
feel.  I'm  not  much  on  reasoning  things  out,  but 
I've  a  few  pretty  clear  ideas  on  this  subject.  From 
what  you  tell  me  that  Marsh  told  you,  it  is  quite 
evident  that  Maggie  Leblanc  is  anxious  to  get  Dick 
into  a  mess.  Well  ?  " 

"  You  think  the  girl  cut  the  pole  ?  " 

"Yes.  Why  not?  She  has  Maliseet  blood  in 
her,  you  know  —  English,  French,  and  Maliseet. 
She  is  a  fine  looking  girl,  in  her  way  and  of  her 
kind,  but  I've  seen  two  devils  shining  in  her  eyes." 

"  Would  she  run  the  risk  of  killing  one  man, 
just  on  the  chance  of  getting  another  into  trouble?  " 

"  I  won't  say  that  of  her,  Banks,  but  there'd 
be  no  need  for  her  to  run  that  risk.  Finding  David 
in  his  camp,  with  a  broken  arm,  evidently  suggested 


Mr.  Banks  Takes  a  Hand          101 

to  her  the  chance  of  making  trouble  for  Goodine. 
Then  why  shouldn't  she  travel  over  to  the  rapids 
and  hunt  for  the  pole  —  or  a  part  of  it?  With 
luck,  she'd  find  it.  Then  she  could  trim  the  broken 
end  a  little,  and  leave  it  where  it  would  be  most 
likely  to  be  found." 

"  Where  was  it  found  ?   In  an  eddy  ?  " 

"  No.     High  and  dry  on  top  of  a  flat  rock." 

"  That  certainly  looks  fishy!  "  exclaimed  the  New 
Yorker.  "  I'm  with  you,  Rayton,  no  matter  how 
severely  you  test  my  —  my  imagination.  Shake  on 
it,  old  man !  " 

They  shook. 

"  I  am  greatly  relieved,"   said  the  Englishman. 

"  You  see,  unless  I  get  outside  opinion,  I 
am  never  quite  sure  if  the  things  I  think  of 
all  by  myself  have  any  sense  in  them  or 
not.  Well,  I  am  mighty  glad  you  see  it  the  same 
way  I  do.  As  soon  as  Molly  told  me  where  she 
had  found  the  piece  of  pole,  I  smelt  a  rat.  Of 
course  I'd  never  have  thought  of  all  that  about 
Maggie  Leblanc,  except  for  my  thorough  belief  in 
Dick  Goodine.  That  set  me  to  work.  Now  we 
had  better  have  breakfast." 

Mr.  Banks  nodded. 

"  Why    don't    you    set    seriously    to    work    to 


102  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

straighten  out  the  marked  card  business?"  he 
asked. 

"  I  have;  but  it  just  takes  me  'round  and  'round," 
said  Rayton. 

They  had  just  finished  their  breakfast  when  Dick 
Goodine  appeared,  ready  to  take  them  into  the 
woods  for  a  day,  after  moose.  He  brought  a  boy 
with  him  to  look  after  the  place  and  the  live  stock, 
in  case  the  sportsmen  should  be  kept  out  all  night. 
The  three  left  the  house  shortly  after  seven 
o'clock. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  Banks  shot  an  old  bull 
moose  carrying  a  fine  pair  of  antlers.  They  skinned 
and  dressed  it,  and  hung  hide,  flesh,  and  antlers 
in  a  tree ;  they  pressed  forward,  for  they  were  near 
a  great  square  of  barren  land,  where  the  chances 
of  finding  caribou  were  good.  They  reached  the 
barren,  sighted  a  small  herd,  and  Rayton  dropped 
a  fair-sized  stag,  and  after  making  packs  of  the 
antlers,  hide,  and  the  best  cuts,  they  struck  the 
homeward  trail. 

It  was  dark  by  the  time  the  tree  in  which  the 
remains  of  the  moose  was  hung  was  reached,  so 
they  made  camp  there  for  the  night.  At  the  first 
break  of  dawn  they  were  up  and  afoot  again,  and 
though  heavily  loaded,  they  made  good  time.  They 


Mr.  Banks  Takes  a  Hand          103 

halted  only  half  an  hour  for  their  midday  meal, 
and  reached  Rayton's  farm  shortly  after  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Old  Captain  Wigmore 
was  there  to  welcome  them.  They  found  him  in 
the  sitting  room,  very  much  at  his  ease,  with  a 
decanter  of  the  Englishman's  whisky  on  the  table 
in  front  of  him.  Rayton  laughed  good-humo redly, 
shook  his  hand  cordially,  and  invited  him  to  stay 
for  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

"  Gladly,  my  dear  boy,"  returned  the  captain.  He 
seemed  to  be  in  a  much  better  humor  than  was 
usual  with  him.  The  sportsmen  washed,  changed, 
and  had  a  long  and  quiet  smoke,  and  when  the 
smoke  was  finished  it  was  time  to  get  the  evening 
meal.  Rayton  and  Dick  Goodine  went  to  the 
kitchen,  and  set  to  work.  They  were  interrupted 
by  Timothy  Fletcher,  the  captain's  reserved  and 
disagreeable  old  servant.  Timothy's  wrinkled  face 
wore  an  expression  of  intense  anxiety  and  marks 
of  fatigue. 

"  Cap'n  here  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  in  at  the  kit- 
chen door. 

"  Yes,  he's  here,"  replied  Rayton,  with  a  note  of 
sharpness  in  his  voice.  The  soul  of  politeness  him- 
self, he  could  not  stand  intentional  rudeness  in 
others. 


104  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  Glad  to  hear  it.  I've  been  huntin'  over  the 
hull  damn  country  for  him,"  remarked  Timothy. 

"  Do  you  want  to  speak  to  him?  "  asked  Rayton. 

Before  the  other  could  answer,  Wigmore  him- 
self darted  into  the  kitchen. 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  want  ?  "  he  cried,  go- 
ing close  up  to  his  servant,  and  shaking  a  thin 
but  knotty  fist  in  his  face.  "  Go  home,  I  tell  you." 

His  frail  body  trembled,  and  his  very  beard 
seemed  to  bristle  with  wrath. 

"  But  —  but  I  thought  you  was  lost,"  stammered 
the  old  servant. 

"  Get  out !  "  screamed  Wigmore.  "  Go  home  and 
mind  your  own  business." 

Timothy  Fletcher  stood  his  ground  for  a  few 
seconds,  staring  keenly  into  the  captain's  face. 
Then,  without  another  word,  he  turned  and  walked 
out  of  the  kitchen.  Old  Wigmore  glared  around, 
swore  a  little,  mumbled  an  excuse,  and  followed 
his  servant. 

'  That  old  captain  is  a  character,"  said  Mr. 
Banks.  "  He's  worth  watching." 

"  He's  a  queer  cuss,  and  no  mistake,"  agreed  Dick 
Goodine. 

"  Not  a  bad  sort  at  heart,"  said  Rayton,  dishing 
the  fried  potatoes.  "  He  has  had  his  troubles,  I 


Mr.  Banks  Takes  a  Hand  105 

imagine,  but  when  he  is  feeling  right  he  is  a  very 
agreeable  companion." 

"  I  like  his  room  better  nor  his  company,"  said 
the  trapper. 

A  couple  of  hours  later,  when  the  three  were 
smoking  lazily  by  the  sitting-room  fire,  they  were 
startled  by  the  sounds  of  a  vehicle  and  horse  tear- 
ing up  to  the  house  at  top  speed.  Rayton  and 
Turk  got  quickly  to  their  feet.  The  front  door 
flew  open  and  heavy  boots  banged  along  the  un- 
carpeted  hall.  Then  the  door  of  the  room  was 
flung  wide,  and  David  Marsh  burst  in.  His  right 
arm  was  bandaged  and  slung,  but  in  his  left  hand 
he  held  a  heavy  stick. 

"Have  you  seen  that  skunk,  Dick  Goodine?" 
he  cried.  "  My  camp  on  Teakettle  Brook's  burnt 
to  the  ground !  Oh,  there  you  are !  " 

By  this  time  Mr.  Banks  and  Goodine  were  also 
on  their  feet.  Marsh  started  forward,  with  murder 
in  his  eyes,  and  his  mouth  twisted.  Rayton  stepped 
in  front  of  him. 

"  Kindly  remember  that  you  are  in  my  house," 
said  the  Englishman  quietly.  "  Just  stop  where 
you  are,  please,  and  explain  yourself." 

"  Get  to  hell  out  of  my  way ! "  cried  David. 
"  I  ain't  talkin'  to  you.  There's  the  sneak  I'm 


106  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

after  —  the  dirty  coward  who  cut  halfway  through 
my  canoe  pole,  and  then  set  my  camp  afire,  stores 
and  all!  Let  me  at  him,  you  pie- faced  English- 
man!" 


CHAPTER   VIII 

RAYTON  GOES  TO  BORROW  A  SAUCEPAN 

"WHAT  do  you  want  of  me,  Davy  Marsh?" 
demanded  the  trapper.  "If  you  think  I  cut  your 
canoe  pole,  yer  a  fool,  and  if  you  say  so,  yer  a 
liar!" 

"  And  what  is  all  this  about  your  camp?  "  asked 
Rayton,  wrenching  the  club  from  David's  hand. 
"  Keep  cool,  and  tell  us  about  it." 

"By-  -!"  cried  the  guide,  "I'd  knock  the 
stuffin'  out  of  the  two  o'  ye  if  I  had  the  use  o' 
my  arm !  You  call  me  a  liar,  Dick  Goodine  ?  That's 
easy  —  now  —  with  my  right  arm  in  splints.  And 
as  you  are  so  damn  smart,  Rayton,  can  you  tell 
me  who  burnt  down  my  camp?  And  can  you  tell 
me  who  cut  that  pole  ?  There's  a  piece  of  it  standin' 
in  the  corner  —  proof  enough  to  send  a  man  to 
jail  on !  " 

"  This  is  the  first  I  have  heard  of  the  camp," 
replied  Rayton,  "  and  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear 
of  it  now.  When  did  it  happen?" 

107 


108  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  Happen  ?  "  cried  Marsh  bitterly.  "  It  happened 
this  very  day.  Peter  Griggs  was  out  that  way  with 
a  load  of  grub  for  one  o'  Harley's  camps,  this  very 
afternoon,  and  it  was  just  burnin'  good  when  he 
come  to  it.  Hadn't  bin  set  more'n  an  hour,  he 
cal'lated,  but  it  was  too  far  gone  for  him  to  stop 
it.  So  he  unhitched  one  of  his  horses  and  rode 
in  to  tell  me,  hopin'  I'd  be  able  to  catch  the  damn 
skunk  who  done  it.  And  here  he  is,  by  hell ! " 

"  You  are  wrong  there,  Marsh,"  said  Mr.  Banks. 
"  Goodine  has  been  with  us  since  early  yesterday 
morning,  way  over  in  the  Long  Barrens  country  — 
and  we  didn't  get  home  till  this  afternoon." 

"  We  made  camp  near  the  Barrens  last  night," 
said  Rayton. 

"  Is  that  the  truth?  "  asked  Marsh.  "  Cross  your 
heart !  So  help  you  God !  " 

"  It  is  the  truth,"  said  Rayton. 

"  Damn  your  cheek,  Marsh,  of  course  it  is  the 
truth,"  roared  Banks. 

Dick  Goodine  nodded.  "  Cross  my  heart.  So 
help  me  God,"  he  said. 

The  flush  of  rage  slipped  down  from  David's 
brow  and  face  like  a  red  curtain.  He  moistened 
his  lips  with  his  tongue. 

"  Then  it's  the  curse  of  them  two  marks  on  the 


Rayton  Goes  to  Borrow  a  Saucepan  109 

card !  "  he  whispered.  "  It's  the  curse  of  them  two 
red  crosses !  " 

"Rot!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Banks.  "Just  because 
Goodine  didn't  fire  your  camp,  you  jump  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  devil  did  it.  Rot !  " 

"  There's  nobody  else  would  do  it  but  Dick 
Goodine,"  returned  David  sullenly,  "  and  if  you 
say  he  didn't,  well  then  —  but  lookee  here !  Who 
cut  half  through  that  pole?  Goodine  did  that,  any- 
how! Molly  Canadian  told  me  where  she  found 
it.  You  can't  git  out  of  that,  Dick  Goodine!" 

"That's  so?"  replied  Dick.  "You'd  best  go 
home  and  take  a  pill,  Davy." 

"  Molly  told  us  where  she  found  it,  too,"  said 
Rayton.  "  I  call  it  a  mighty  clever  piece  of  spruce, 
to  crawl  out  of  the  eddy  at  the  tail  of  the  rapid, 
and  lie  down  on  top  of  a  flat  rock.  How  does 
it  look  to  you,  Marsh  ?  " 

David  frowned,  and  glanced  uncertainly  at  Mr. 
Banks. 

"  That's  queer,"  he  admitted,  "  but  I  guess  it 
don't  alter  the  fact  that  the  pole  had  bin  cut.  Look 
at  it!  It  was  cut  halfway  through!  And  there's 
the  man  who  cut  it,  say  what  you  please!  He  was 
the  last  but  myself  to  take  it  in  his  hands." 

"  I  was  the  last,  but  you,  to  handle  it  afore  it 


110  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

was  broke,"  replied  Dick  Goodine  calmly,  "  but 
somebody  else  has  bin  at  it  since  it  broke.  Who 
fished  it  out  o'  the  river  and  laid  it  on  the  rock, 
high  and  dry,  for  Molly  Canadian  to  find?  When 
you  know  that,  David  Marsh,  you'll  know  who 
made  the  cut  in  it.  But  one  thing  I'll  tell  you  — 
I  didn't  do  it.  If  I'd  wanted  to  smash  yer  durned 
silly  arm,  or  yer  neck,  I'd  have  done  it  with  my 
hands.  So  don't  call  me  any  more  names  or  maybe 
I'll  get  so  mad  as  to  forget  yer  not  in  shape  to  take 
a  lickin'.  That's  all  —  except  I'm  sorry  yer  havin' 
a  run  o'  bad  luck." 

"  Keep  yer  sorrow  for  them  as  wants  it,"  re- 
plied Marsh,  and  left  the  house. 

"  That  young  man  shows  up  very  badly  when 
things  go  wrong  with  him,"  remarked  Mr.  Banks 
mildly.  "  Trouble  seems  to  rattle  him  hopelessly. 
Suppose  we  turn  in." 

"  Guess  I'll  be  steppin'  home,  gentlemen,  if  you 
don't  mean  to  hunt  to-morrow,"  said  the  trapper. 

"  Better  stay  the  night,  Dick.  It  is  late  —  and 
a  long  walk  to  your  place  —  and  we  want  you  to 
help  us  skin  and  clean  Mr.  Banks'  moose  head  in 
the  morning,"  said  Rayton. 

So  Goodine  remained. 

On  the  following  morning,  while  the  New  York 


Rayton  Goes  to  Borrow  a  Saucepan  111 

sportsman  and  the  trapper  were  busy  over  the  in- 
tricate job  of  removing  the  hide  from  the  moose 
head,  and  cleaning  the  skull,  Rayton  invented  an 
excuse  for  going  over  to  the  Harley  place.  Since 
Jim  Harley's  pressing  invitation  he  had  made  three 
visits  and  had  talked  with  Nell  Harley  three  times. 
Never  before  had  he  ventured  to  show  himself 
in  the  morning.  Those  three  visits,  'however,  had 
fired  him  with  recklessness.  Clocks  stop  for  lovers 
—  and  Reginald  Baynes  Rayton  was  a  lover.  He 
was  not  aware  of  it,  but  the  fact  remains.  He 
did  not  know  what  was  the  matter  with  him.  He 
felt  a  mighty  friendship  for  Jim  Harley.  So,  hav- 
ing told  Banks  and  Goodine  that  he  wanted  to  bor- 
row a  saucepan  of  a  very  particular  size,  he  made 
his  way  across  the  settlement  by  road  and  field, 
wood  and  pasture.  He  was  within  sight  of  the 
big  farmhouse  when  old  Captain  Wigmore  stepped 
from  a  thicket  of  spruces  and  confronted  him. 

"  Good  morning,  Reginald,"  said  the  captain. 
"  Where  are  you  bound  for  so  early  ?  " 

"  Good  morning,"  returned  the  Englishman. 
"  I'm  out  to  borrow  a  saucepan." 

"So.     Who  from?" 

"  I  think  Mrs.  Harley  has  just  what  I  want." 

"  I  haven't  a  doubt  of  it,  Reginald.    As  I'm  go- 


A  Backwoods  Mystery 


ing  that  way  myself,  I'll  step  'along  with  you.  But 
it's  a  long  walk,  my  boy,  every  time  you  want  to 
use  a  saucepan.  You  had  better  buy  one  for  your- 
self." 

Rayton  laughed,  and  the  two  advanced  elbow  to 
elbow. 

"  I  hear,"  said  the  captain,  "  that  poor  young 
Marsh  is  up  to  his  neck  in  the  waters  of  tribu- 
lation. His  luck,  in  the  past,  has  always  been  of 
the  best.  It's  a  remarkably  queer  thing,  don't  you 
think  so?" 

"  His  luck  was  too  good  to  last,  that  is  all," 
replied  Rayton.  "  One  cannot  expect  to  have  every- 
thing work  out  right  forever  —  especially  a  chap 
like  Marsh,  who  has  a  way  with  him  that  is  not 
attractive.  I  think  he  has  an  enemy." 

"  I  saw  him  this  morning,"  said  Wigmore, 
"  and  what  do  you  think  he  is  worrying  about 
now  ?  " 

"  Heaven  knows  !  " 

"  He  has  given  up  the  idea  that  young  Goodine 
is  persecuting  him,  and  now  lays  all  his  troubles 
to  the  score  of  the  devil.  He  broods  over  those 
two  little  marks  on  that  card  that  was  dealt  to  him 
during  our  game  of  poker.  I  don't  believe  he  slept 
a  wink  last  night.  Jim's  story  concerning  the  past 


Rayton  Goes  to  Borrow  a  Saucepan  113 

history  of  those  crosses  has  done  its  work.  The 
poor  fellow  is  so  badly  shaken,  that  when  he  is  out 
he's  afraid  the  sky  may  fall  upon  him,  and  when 
he's  indoors,  he  is  anxious  about  the  room.  He  is 
a  coward  at  heart,  you  know  —  and  it  does  not  do 
for  a  coward  to  consider  himself  in  love  with  Nell 
Harley." 

Rayton  blushed  quickly,  and  laughed  his  polite 
but  meaningless  laugh. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  he  said.  "  None  but  the  brave, 
you  know." 

"  Exactly,  Reginald.  You  are  not  such  a  fool 
as  you  —  well,  we'll  say  sound,  for  you  don't  look 
like  a  fool.  No  offense  is  meant,  my  dear  boy. 
Fact  is,  I'm  your  very  sincere  admirer,  and  I  should 
like  to  hear  what  you  think  of  that  marked  card, 
that  turned  up  the  other  night  at  your  little  party." 

"  I  think  it  was  nothing  more  than  a  queer 
chance." 

"  You  believe  Jim's  story  ?  You  believe  all  that 
about  his  mother  and  grandmother  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  but  I  think  what  happened 
the  other  night  was  just  chance." 

"  But  you  must  admit,  Reginald,  that  David 
Marsh,  who  received  the  marked  card,  has  had  a 
peck  of  trouble  served  to  him  since  that  night." 


114  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  Yes.  That  is  more  queer  chance  —  a  very 
strange  coincidence." 

"  You  are  a  firm  believer  in  chance,  evidently. 
Or  is  it  that  you  call  everything  chance  that  you 
can't  explain?  " 

Reginald  sighed  profoundly.  "  Chance,"  he  said 
—  "  why,  chance  is  chance.  It  was  chance  that  you 
and  I  met  this  morning.  It  was  just  chance  that 
David's  luck  should  turn,  or  that  some  one  with 
a  grudge  against  him  should  get  busy,  just  after 
that  marked  card  turned  up." 

Old  Wigmore  smiled  and  nodded. 

"  I,  too,  am  a  great  believer  in  what  you  call 
chance,"  he  said.  "  But  here  we  are,  my  boy.  I 
see  Miss  Harley  on  the  veranda,  in  a  very  becom- 
ing and  seasonable  jacket  of  red  wool.  No  doubt 
she'll  be  able  to  find  you  a  saucepan.  Good  morn- 
ing, Reginald." 

Captain  Wigmore  lifted  his  hat  to  the  young 
woman  on  the  veranda,  and  then  turned  aside  and 
moved  briskly  away.  Rayton  also  lifted  his  hat, 
but  he  continued  to  advance.  Upon  reaching  the 
steps  leading  up  to  the  veranda  he  uttered  a  cho- 
king sound  of  embarrassment  and  concern,  for  it 
was  quite  evident  that  Nell  Harley  had  been  weeping 
recently.  But  the  right  to  refer  to  this  lamentable 


Rayton  Goes  to  Borrow  a  Saucepan  115 

fact  was  not  his.  He  must  hide  his  pity  and  tender 
curiosity. 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Harley.  Isn't  it  a  ripping 
morning  for  the  time  of  year?  "  he  said. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  going  to  rain,"  she  replied. 

"  Of  course,"  agreed  Rayton,  somewhat  abashed, 
and  glancing  up  at  the  gray  sky.  "  That's  what 
I  meant,  you  know.  Rain's  just  what  we  need. 
It  will  keep  the  frost  off  for  a  while  longer,  don't 
you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Oh,  please  don't  talk  about  the  weather,  Mr. 
Rayton.  I  feel  too  —  too  worried  to  talk  about 
•the  weather." 

"  Worried !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man.  "  I  am 
sorry.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do,  Miss  Harley? 
If  so,  just  name  it,  please.  I'd  be  delighted,  you 
know.  May  —  may  I  ask  what  is  the  trouble?" 

"  Please  come  in.  There  is  a  fire  in  the  sitting 
room.  Come  in,  if  you  can  spare  the  time,  for 
I  want  to  tell  you  all  about  it  —  though  I  suppose 
you  know  already." 

Reginald  followed  her  into  the  sitting  room  and 
took  a  seat  across  the  glowing  hearth  from  her. 
He  felt  torn  by  her  undisclosed  trouble,  and  be- 
wildered by  his  own  good  fortune.  He  forgot  to 
inquire  after  Jim  and  Mrs.  Harley,  and  the  sauce- 


116  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

pan  of  very  particular  dimensions  fled  from  his 
mind.  He  sat  in  a  low  chair  and  gazed  anxiously 
and  expectantly  at  Nell  Harley.  She  sat  with  her 
elbow  on  her  knee,  her  round  chin  on  the  heel 
of  her  hand,  and  the  shadow  of  retrospection  over 
her  bright,  pale  face.  Her  eyes  were  lowered,  but 
presently,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  suddenly  as  a 
flash  of  lightning,  she  raised  them  to  his  glance. 

"  It  is  about  that  card  I  am  worrying  so,"  she 
said.  "  I  have  heard  all  about  it  —  about  the  card 
that  was  dealt  to  David  Marsh  with  the  two  little 
red  crosses  drawn  upon  the  face  of  it.  Already 
he  has  broken  his  arm,  lost  his  canoe,  and  had  his 
camp  burned  down.  It  is  terrible  —  and  I  am 
frightened.  I  know  the  tradition,  and  believe  it 
fully.  Jim  does  not  like  to  talk  about  it,  and  Kate 
thinks  it  is  all  nonsense,  though  she  is  too  kind 
to  actually  say  so.  But  I  know  that  every  word 
of  the  old  story  is  true.  It  frightens  me.  Do  you 
believe  that  —  that  the  curse  is  still  following 
us  —  or  does  it  all  seem  utterly  ridiculous  to 
you?" 

Reginald  turned  his  eyes  away  from  her  face 
with  a  visible  effort,  gazed  into  the  heart  of  the 
fire  for  a  moment  or  two,  studied  the  pattern  of 
the  rug  at  his  feet,  and  inspected  the  ceiling.  His 


Rayton  Goes  to  Borrow  a  Saucepan  117 

glance  returned  to  her  face,  held  for  a  moment, 
then  veered  in  panic  to  the  window. 

"Of  course  I  believe  the  story  that  Jim  told  to 
me,"  he  said,  "  and  I  consider  it  a  —  a  very  remark- 
able story  —  and  terribly  sad,  too ;  but  it  was  the 
work  of  man,  or  men,  of  course.  There  was  noth- 
ing supernatural  about  it.  An  enemy  —  a  rival  — 
used  those  red  marks  on  a  card  in  each  case,  as  a 
warning.  First  it  was  the  Spanish  count,  and  next 
it  was  that  Mr.  Jackson.  But  now,  in  Samson's 
Mill  Settlement  —  why,  I  feel  quite  sure  it  is  noth- 
ing but  chance.  Nobody  but  Jim  knew  of  that 
family  story,  and  he  certainly  did  not  mark  the 
card.  And  —  and  the  conditions  are  not  right.  At 
least,  that's  how  it  looks  to  me." 

"The  conditions?"  she  queried  softly. 

Rayton  shot  a  brief,  but  imploring  glance  at  her. 

"  What  I  mean  is  —  ah  —  why  should  David 
Marsh  get  the  card?  I  hope  —  I  mean  I  can't  see 
—  ah  —  I  can't  see  any  association  between  a  chap 
like  David  and " 

He  fell  silent,  became  very  red,  and  blinked  at 
the  fire. 

"  Please  go  on,"  she  whispered.  "  Please  tell  me 
what  you  think,  for  I  know  you  are  honest,  fearless 
and  sane,  Mr.  Rayton.  You  must  forgive  me  for 


118  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

speaking  so  frankly  —  but  that  is  what  Jim  says 
of  you.  You  were  saying  that  you  cannot  see 
any  connection  between  David  Marsh  and  —  and 
what?" 

Reginald  took  a  deep  breath  and  squared  his 
shoulders. 

"  Between  Marsh  and  those  others  who  received 
the  marked  cards,"  he  said.  "  First,  it  was  the 
young  sailor,  the  chap  in  the  navy  —  the  Spaniard's 
winning  rival.  Next  it  was  your  father  —  a  man 
of  character  and  —  and  breeding.  Now  David 
Marsh  gets  the  card!  That  seems  absurd  to  me. 
It  seems  like  a  man  going  out  to  kill  a  partridge 
with  an  elephant  gun.  It  —  it  does  not  look  to  me 
like  a  continuation  of  the  —  the  same  idea  at  all." 

"  Why  not  ?  Please  be  quite  frank  with  me.  Why 
does  it  seem  different?" 

"  But  really,  Miss  Harley,  I  —  I  have  no  right 
to  air  my  —  my  opinions." 

"  I  want  you  to.  I  beg  you  to.  I  am  sure  your 
opinions  will  help  me." 

"  If  anything  I  can  say  will  make  you  feel  easier, 
then  I'll  —  I'll  go  ahead.  What  I'm  driving  at 
is,  that  the  navy  chap  was  the  kind  of  chap  your 
grandmother  might  have  become  —  ah,  very  fond 
of.  Perhaps  she  was.  He  was  a  serious  proposi- 


Rayton  Goes  to  Borrow  a  Saucepan  119 

tion.  So  with  your  father.  The  others  who  were 
fond  of  your  mother  saw  in  him  a  real  rival  —  a 
dangerous  man.  But  —  it  is  not  so  with  Marsh. 
He  is  not  big.  He  is  not  strong.  The  truth  is, 
if  you  forgive  me  for  saying  so,  there  is  no  dan- 
ger of  —  of  your  caring  for  a  chap  like  David 
Marsh.  There!  So  the  case  is  not  like  the  others, 
and  the  old  idea  is  not  carried  out.  Fate,  or  the 
rival,  or  whatever  it  is,  has  made  a  stupid  mistake." 

He  glanced  at  the  girl  as  he  ceased  speaking. 
Her  clear  face  was  flushed  to  a  tender  pink,  and 
her  eyes  were  lowered. 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  what  you 
say,  Mr.  Rayton,"  she  murmured.  "  It  sounds  like 
very  clear  reasoning  to  me.  And  you  are  right 
in  —  in  believing  that  I  do  not  care  at  all  for 
David  Marsh,  in  the  way  you  mean.  But  may  we 
not  go  even  farther  in  disproving  any  connection 
between  this  case  and  the  other  two?  " 

For  the  fraction  of  a  second  her  glance  lifted  and 
encountered  his. 

"  Even  if   David  happened   to   correspond   with 

that  young  sailor  of  long  ago,  or  with  my  dear 

father,  the  rival  is  missing,"  she  said  uncertainly. 

'  The  rivals  were  the  most  terrible  features  of  the 

other  cases." 


120 


Rayton  got  nervously  to  his  feet,  then  sank  down 
again. 

"  There  would  be  plenty  of  rivals  —  of  a  kind," 
he  said.  "  That  is  the  truth,  as  you  must  know. 
But  like  poor  Marsh,  none  is  —  would  be  —  worth 
considering.  So,  you  see,  fate,  or  whatever  it  is 
that  plays  this  game,  is  playing  stupidly.  That  is 
why  I  think  it  nothing  but  chance,  in  this  case  — 
the  whole  thing  nothing  but  the  maddest  chance." 

"  You  have  eased  my  mind  very  greatly,"  she 
said. 

The  Englishman  bowed  and  rose  from  his  chair. 
"  I  am  glad,"  he  said  simply.  "  Now  I  must  be 
starting  for  home.  I  left  Banks  and  Goodine  work- 
ing over  a  moose  head  that  Banks  got  yesterday." 

"  You  do  not  think  Dick  Goodine  set  fire  to 
David's  camp,  do  you?  There  is  bad  blood  be- 
tween them,  you  know,"  she  said  anxiously. 

"  He  was  with  us  all  yesterday  and  the  day  be- 
fore," he  answered,  "  so  I  knew  he  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it." 

At  the  door  the  young  woman  said,  "  I  am  very 
glad  you  came  over  this  morning."  And  then, 
with  an  air  of  sudden  awakening  to  the  common- 
places of  life,  "  Did  you  come  for  anything  in  par- 
ticular? To  see  Jim,  perhaps?"  she  asked. 


Rayton  Goes  to  Borrow  a  Saucepan  121 

"  No.  Oh,  no,"  he  answered,  hat  in  hand.  "  I 
just  came  —  that  is,  I  just  happened  along." 

He  was  halfway  home  when  he  remembered  the 
saucepan. 


CHAPTER   IX 

RAYTON  CONFESSES 

OLD  Timothy  Fletcher,  Captain  Wigmore's  ser- 
vant and  companion,  was  more  of  a  mystery  to  the 
people  of  Samson's  Mill  Settlement  than  the  cap- 
tain himself.  He  was  not  as  sociable  as  his  master, 
kept  to  the  house  a  great  deal,  and  moved  with  a 
furtive  air  whenever  he  ventured  abroad.  In  speech 
he  was  reserved  to  such  an  extent  that  he  seldom 
addressed  a  word  to  anybody  but  Wigmore,  and 
in  manner  he  was  decidedly  unpleasant.  He  was 
neither  liked  nor  understood  by  his  neighbors.  He 
did  not  care  a  rap  what  the  people  thought  of  him, 
and  yet,  with  all  his  queerness  and  unsociability, 
he  possessed  many  common  human  traits.  He 
served  the  captain  faithfully,  had  a  weakness  for 
rye  whisky  and  Turkish  cigarettes  —  weaknesses 
which  he  indulged  on  the  sly  —  and  spent  much 
of  his  time  in  the  perusal  of  sentimental  fiction. 

The  afternoon  of  the  day  on  which  Mr.  Rayton 
122 


Rayton  Confesses  123 

went  across  the  fields  to  borrow  a  saucepan  was 
bright  and  warm.  The  morning  had  promised  rain, 
but  a  change  of  wind  had  given  to  late  autumn 
a  few  more  hours  of  magic,  unseasonable  warmth 
and  glow.  Timothy  Fletcher,  shod  with  felt,  went 
to  the  door  of  the  captain's  bedroom  and  assured 
himself  that  the  worthy  gentleman  was  deep  in 
his  after-luncheon  nap.  Then  he  tiptoed  to  his 
own  chamber,  produced  a  paper-covered  novel  and 
a  box  of  cigarettes  from  a  locked  trunk,  and  crept 
downstairs  again.  In  the  kitchen  he  changed  his 
felt-soled  slippers  for  a  pair  of  boots.  He  crossed 
the  garden,  the  little  pasture  beyond,  and  entered 
a  patch  of  young  firs  and  spruces.  He  walked 
swiftly  and  furtively,  until  he  came  to  a  little  sun- 
filled  clearing,  on  a  gently  sloping  hillside.  Here 
he  found  his  favorite  seat,  which  was  a  dry  log 
lying  near  a  big  poplar.  He  seated  himself  on  the 
log,  leaned  back  against  the  poplar,  lit  a  fat  cig- 
arette, and  opened  the  book. 

For  a  whole  hour  Timothy  read  steadily,  chapter 
after  chapter,  and  smoked  four  cigarettes.  Then 
he  placed  the  book  face  down  upon  his  knee.  The 
sun  was  warm  and  the  air  soft  and  fragrant.  He 
closed  his  eyes,  opened  them  with  an  effort,  closed 
them  again.  His  head  sank  back  and  settled  slightly 


124  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

to  the  left.  The  book  slid  from  his  knee.  But  he 
gave  it  no  heed. 

He  awoke,  struggling  violently,  but  impotently. 
He  opened  his  eyes  upon  darkness.  He  cried  out 
furiously,  and  his  voice  was  beaten  thunderously 
back  into  his  own  ears  by  an  enveloping  blanket.  He 
knew  it  for  a  blanket  by  the  weight  and  feeling 
of  it.  His  back  was  still  against  the  familiar  poplar 
tree,  but  now  it  was  pressed  to  the  trunk  by  some- 
thing that  crossed  his  chest.  His  hands  were 
bound  to  his  sides.  His  ankles  were  gripped  to- 
gether. 

Now  it  happened  that  a  large  widow,  named 
Mrs.  Beesley,  came  to  the  little  hillside  clearing 
just  before  sunset.  She  had  been  hunting  through 
the  woods  all  the  afternoon  for  an  herb  that  en- 
joys the  reputation,  in  this  country,  of  being  a 
panacea  for  all  ailments  of  the  stomach.  Now  she 
was  on  her  way  home. 

Rounding  the  big  poplar,  she  beheld  a  shapeless, 
blanket-swathed,  rope-bound  form  lumped  against 
the  trunk.  She  did  not  see  the  ropes  clearly,  nor 
fully  comprehend  the  blanket;  in  fact  she  received 
only  a  general  impression  of  something  monstrous, 
bulky,  terrific.  She  uttered  a  shrill  scream,  and, 
for  a  few  seconds,  stood  spellbound.  A  choking 


Rayton  Confesses  125 

sound,  muffled  and  terrible,  came  from  the  shape- 
less bulk,  and  one  end  of  it  began  to  sway  and 
the  other  to  twist  and  wag.  Mrs.  Beesley  turned 
and  ran  for  her  very  life. 

Instinct,  rather  than  reason,  directed  Mrs. 
Beesley's  fleeing  feet  toward  the  clearings  and 
farmsteads  of  the  settlement.  She  left  the  haunted 
woods  behind  her,  crossed  a  lumpy  pasture  at  an 
amazing  pace,  sprang  into  the  middle  of  a  brush 
fence,  and  fought  through  without  a  halt,  sighted 
a  house  with  a  male  figure  in  the  foreground, 
and  kicked  her  way  toward  these  signs  of  protec- 
tion with  such  high  action  that  her  elastic-sided 
boots  acknowledged  themselves  frankly,  and  Cap- 
tain Wigmore's  suspicions  of  white  stockings  were 
confirmed.  She  arrived  with  such  force  as  to  send 
the  frail  old  captain  reeling  backward  across  an 
empty  flower  bed.  Following  him,  she  reclined 
upon  the  mold. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  cried  the  captain.  "  Why, 
it  is  Mrs.  Beesley!  My  dear  Mrs.  Beesley,  what 
the  devil  is  the  matter  with  you?  Allow  me  to 
help  you  to  your  feet.  You'll  ruin  your  gown  in 
that  bed,  I'm  sure.  Did  you  see  a  bear?" 

She  had  no  breath  for  words,  just  then,  and  her 
legs  felt  as  if  they  had  melted.  Wigmore  possessed 


126  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

himself  of  her  fat  hands,  set  his  heels  in  the  edge 
of  the  flower  bed,  and  pulled.  He  suggested  a 
small  terrier  worrying  a  large  and  sleepy  pig. 
Presently  he  desisted  from  his  efforts,  retreated 
a  few  paces,  and  wiped  his  face  with  his  hand- 
kerchief. 

"  Collect  yourself,  my  dear  Mrs.  Beesley,"  he 
pleaded.  "  I'm  afraid  you'll  catch  your  death 
sitting  there.  Come  now,  try  to  tell  me  all  about 
the  bear  —  and  try  to  rise." 

The  widow  found  her  voice,  though  she  did  not 
move. 

"  It  weren't  a  b'ar,  captain,"  she  cried.  "  Sakes 
alive!  No  b'ar  'u'd  scare  me  like  that.  Don't 
know  what  to  call  it,  captain.  The  devil,  I  reckon 
—  or  a  ghost,  maybe  —  or  a  annerchrist.  You  better 
git  yer  gun,  captain,  and  go  back  and  take  a  look. 
Oh,  lor'!  Oh,  sakes  alive!  I  never  thought  to 
see  the  day  Mary  Beesley  'u'd  jump  fences  like  a 
breechy  steer ! " 

"  Calm  yourself,  Mrs.  Beesley,"  returned  old 
Wigmore,  "  and  tell  me  where  you  saw  this 
creature.  Did  it  chase  you?  " 

"  It  was  in  the  little  clearin'  where  the  spring 
is,"  replied  the  widow.  "No,  it  didn't  chase  me, 
captain,  as  far's  I  know.  I  didn't  look  'round  to 


Rayton  Confesses  127 

see.  It  jes'  growled  and  wiggled  —  and  then  I 
lit  out,  captain,  and  made  no  more  to-do  about  a 
fence  than  I  would  about  crossin'  a  hooked  mat 
on  the  kitchen  floor." 

"  Come  in  and  sit  down,  Mrs.  Beesley,"  said 
Wigmore.  "I'll  get  my  man  Timothy  and  go  up 
to  the  spring  and  look  'round.  I  haven't  a  doubt 
about  it  being  a  bear." 

Wigmore  went  through  the  house  shouting  vainly 
for  Timothy  Fletcher.  Then  he  went  out  to  the 
road  and  caught  sight  of  Benjamin  Samson  in  the 
distance.  He  whistled  on  his  fingers  and  waved 
a  hand  violently  to  the  miller.  Benjamin  came 
to  him  as  fast  as  his  weight  allowed. 

"  What's  bitin'  you,  cap'n?  "  he  asked. 

'  There  is  something  by  the  spring  up  in  the 
little  clearing,"  said  Wigmore  —  "  something  that 
frightened  Mrs.  Beesley,  and  growled  and  wagged 
itself.  She  is  in  the  house,  recovering  from  her 
fright.  She  ran  like  a  deer." 

'  Then  I'll  bet  it  wasn't  a  man  up  by  the  spring," 
said  Benjamin. 

The  captain  let  this  mild  attempt  at  humor  pass 
without  notice. 

"  I  want  to  go  up  and  take  a  look  'round,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  can't  find  Timothy  anywhere.  It  may 


128  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

be  a  bear  —  and  I  am  an  old  man.  Will  you  come 
along  with  me,  Benjamin?" 

"  Sure.  If  you  can  lend  me  a  gun,"  replied  Mr. 
Samson. 

They  found  a  shotgun,  slipped  two  cartridges 
loaded  with  buckshot  into  the  breech,  bade  Mrs. 
Beesley  sit  quiet  and  be  of  good  heart,  and  set  out 
to  investigate  the  little  hillside  clearing.  It  was  now 
dusk.  The  sun  had  slipped  from  sight,  and  the 
shadows  were  deep  in  the  woods.  The  captain 
carried  a  lighted  lantern,  and  Benjamin  the  ready 
fowling  piece. 

They  soon  reached  the  poplar  tree  and  the  blan- 
ket-swathed figure  bound  against  it.  By  lantern 
light  it  looked  more  grotesque  and  monstrous  than 
by  day,  and  Mr.  Samson  came  within  an  ace  of 
taking  a  snap  shot  at  it,  and  then  beating  a  hasty 
retreat.  The  captain  was  too  quick  for  him,  how- 
ever, noticed  the  twitch  of  the  miller's  arm,  and 
gripped  him  by  the  wrist. 

"  It's  tied  fast,  whatever  it  is,"  he  said. 

"  Don't  you  see  the  ropes?  Come  on,  Benjamin, 
and  keep  a  grip  on  your  nerve.  Here,  let  me  take 
the  gun ! " 

"  I  ain't  scart,"  replied  Samson  thickly.  "  It 
gave  me  a  start  for  a  second,  that's  all." 


Rayton  Confesses  129 

They  approached  the  shapeless  figure  cautiously. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  cried  Wigmore. 

The  thing  twisted  and  squirmed,  and  a  muffled, 
choking,  bestial  sound  came  from  it. 

"  I'll  bet  a  dollar  it's  a  man,"  said  Benjamin. 
"  Now  what  kind  o'  trick  is  this,  I'd  like  to  know  ? 
Maybe  there's  bin  murder  done.  There's  bin  too 
many  queer  tricks  'round  here  lately  to  suit 
me." 

"  It  is  tied  up  in  a  blanket,"  said  the  cap- 
tain. "  Feel  it,  Benjamin,  and  find  out  what 
it  is." 

"  Not  me,"  returned  Samson.  "  I  guess  it's  only 
a  man,  but  I  ain't  particular  about  feelin'  of  it. 
You  go  ahead,  cap'n.  I'll  hold  the  light  for 
you." 

Old  Wigmore  stepped  closer  to  the  blanketed 
form  and  touched  it  gingerly  with  his  left  hand. 
It  squirmed  beneath  his  fingers,  and  again  gave 
utterance  to  that  amazing  sound. 

"  Yes,  it's  a  human  being,"  said  the  captain. 
And  then,  "  Bless  my  soul,  look  at  his  feet !  It's 
poor  Timothy  Fletcher,  by  Heaven!  Quick,  Benja- 
min, lend  a  hand  here !  Cut  that  rope,  man !  " 

In  less  than  half  a  minute  old  Timothy  was 
free.  Lacking  the  support  of  the  rope  that  had 


130  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

circled  his  chest  and  the  tree,  he  tipped  forward 
and  slid  heavily  to  the  ground.  The  captain  knelt 
beside  him. 

"  Run  to  the  house  and  get  some  brandy," 
he  ordered.  "  You'll  find  some  in  my  bed- 
room, behind  the  wardrobe.  Make  haste,  Benja- 
min!" 

"  Well,"  replied  Benjamin  Samson,  "  I  reckon 
I  don't  have  to,  cap'n.  Queer  thing,  cap'n,  but  I 
happen  to  have  a  drop  o'  rye  whisky  in  my  pocket. 
Ain't  carried  sech  a  thing  for  years  and  years  — 
but  I've  had  a  spell  o'  toothache  lately  and  t'  only 
thing  does  it  any  good's  rye  whisky.  I  hold  some 
in  my  mouth  now  and  again  —  and  always  spit  it 
out,  of  course.  Here  you  are,  cap'n,  and  wel- 
come." 

Wigmore  twisted  out  the  cork  and  held  the  bottle 
to  Timothy's  lips.  Timothy's  eyes  were  shut,  but 
his  lips  were  open.  His  throat  seemed  to  be  in 
working  order. 

"  He  takes  it  like  a  baby  takes  its  milk," 
said  Benjamin.  "  I  guess  he  ain't  bin  murdered, 
after  all.  There!  I  reckon  he's  had  about  all 
that's  good  for  him.  Wake  up,  Mr.  Fletcher,  and 
tell  us  all  about  it." 

"  Tell  me  who  did  this,  my  good  Timothy,  and 


Rayton  Confesses  131 

I'll  make  it  hot  for  him,"  said  Wigmore.  "  When 
did  it  happen,  my  worthy  friend  ?  " 

"  This  here  country's  gettin'  that  lawless  it  ain't 
fit  fer  honest  men  like  us  to  live  in  no  longer," 
said  Mr.  Samson. 

Timothy  growled  and  sat  up.  He  glared  at 
Benjamin,  then  turned  his  gaze  upon  his  master. 

"  Ah !  You  feel  better !  "  exclaimed  the  captain. 
"  I  am  glad  of  it,  my  trusty  friend.  Tell  me, 
now,  when  and  how  did  this  outrageous  thing 
happen?  " 

"  I'll  trouble  ye  for  another  drop  of  that  tonic, 
Mr.  Samson,"  said  Timothy. 

"  I  reckon  not,"  returned  the  miller.  "  Doctor 
Nash  says  as  how  too  much  is  a  long  sight  worse 
nor  too  little." 

"  Then  where's  my  book  ?  "  demanded  Timothy. 
"  And  my  cigarettes  ?  " 

"  You  have  not  answered  my  questions,  my  dear 
fellow,"  said  the  captain. 

"  Chuck  it !  "  returned  the  old  servant.  "  I  ain't 
in  the  mood  for  answerin'  fool  questions." 

"  I  fear  his  nerves  are  badly  shaken,"  whispered 
the  captain  to  the  miller.  "  We  must  get  him 
home  and  put  him  to  bed." 

"  But  you  ain't  intendin'  to  leave  the  ropes  and 


132  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

blanket  behind,  surely !  "  exclaimed  Benjamin.  He 
stooped,  picked  up  the  blanket,  and  held  it  to  the 
light  of  the  lantern.  "  Hah !  "  he  cried.  "  It's  my 
blanket!  It's  my  new  hoss  blanket,  by  gosh!  I 
missed  it  fust,  last  Sunday.  And  the  rope's  mine, 
too  —  my  new  hay  rope,  all  cut  to  bits.  I'll  have 
the  law  on  whoever  done  this,  sure's  my  name's 
Benjamin  Samson." 

"  Your  blanket?"  queried  Captain  Wigmore. 
"  Your  blanket  and  rope?  But  no,  Benjamin.  I 
don't  suspect  you,  my  friend,  for  I  know  you  to 
be  an  honest  man.  But  others  —  people  who  don't 
know  you  as  I  do  —  might  think  you  were  the  per- 
son who  tied  Timothy  to  the  tree." 

"  Chuck  it ! "  growled  Mr.  Fletcher,  picking  up 
the  lantern  and  limping  away. 

Thanks  to  Mrs.  Beesley  and  Benjamin  Samson, 
the  story  of  the  mysterious  attack  upon  old  Timothy 
Fletcher  soon  spread  to  the  farthest  outskirts  of 
the  settlement.  Some  inspired  person  connected 
this  with  the  burning  of  David  Marsh's  camp,  and 
it  became  a  general  belief  that  some  desperate 
character  was  at  work  in  the  country.  Samson 
suggested  an  escaped  convict,  but  where  escaped 
from  he  could  not  say.  Timothy  looked  more  un- 
pleasant than  ever,  and  kept  his  jaws  together  like 


Rayton  Confesses  133 

the  jaws  of  a  spring  fox  trap.  He  did  not  seem 
to  enjoy  his  position  in  the  limelight.  Mrs.  Beesley 
found  herself  a  heroine  for  a  little  while,  but 
this  did  not  make  amends  for  the  speedy  ruina- 
tion of  her  dreams  concerning  Captain  Wig- 
more. 

She  had  expected  a  warm  continuation  and  a 
quick  and  romantic  development  of  the  friendly  — 
aye,  more  than  friendly  —  relations  commenced  by 
that  adventure.  But,  alas,  it  had  all  ended  as  sud- 
denly as  it  had  commenced.  The  poor  woman 
sometimes  wondered  if  she  had  made  a  mistake  in 
sitting  for  so  long  in  the  captain's  flower  bed. 

"  Men  are  queer  critters,"  she  said.  "  The  late 
Mr.  Beesley  was  touchy  as  a  cat  about  them  little 
things,  and  maybe  the  captain's  the  same.  But  he 
was  that  friendly  and  perlite,  I  really  did  think  his 
intentions  was  serious." 

Mr.  Banks  was  keenly  interested  in  Timothy's 
adventure.  He  talked  to  Captain  Wigmore  about 
it  for  fully  an  hour. 

Two  days  after  the  mysterious,  and  apparently 
meaningless  attack  upon  Wigmore's  servant,  the 
first  snow  of  the  coming  winter  descended  upon 
the  wilderness.  Jim  Harley  had  two  full  crews  of 
lumbermen  in  the  woods  by  now,  but  was  himself 


134  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

spending  half  his  time  in  the  settlement.  David 
Marsh's  arm  was  still  in  splints,  and  Dick  Goodine 
had  not  yet  gone  out  to  his  bleak  hunting  grounds, 
beyond  the  fringes  of  the  made  roads  and  buck- 
wheat-stubble belt. 

Dick  spent  much  of  his  time  with  Mr.  Banks 
and  Reginald  Rayton.  As  for  Mr.  Harvey  P. 
Banks,  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  both  his  busi- 
ness and  his  distant  home.  He  had  still  one  hun- 
dred of  those  long  cigars,  and  a  tin  box  of  fat 
cigarettes  —  and  he  knew  he  was  welcome  to  his 
bed  and  board.  He  felt  a  warm  friendship  for  his 
host  and  the  Harleys,  and  a  deep  interest  in  all 
the  other  people  of  the  place.  Captain  Wigmore 
and  his  old  servant  excited  his  curiosity  like  the 
first  —  or  last  —  volume  of  an  old-style  novel. 
They  suggested  a  galloping  story;  but  Benjamin 
Samson,  David  Marsh,  and  the  others  suggested 
nothing  more  exciting  than  character  studies.  Doc- 
tor Nash  did  not  interest  the  New  Yorker  at  all, 
but  of  course  the  doctor  could  not  realize  this  fact, 
and  persisted  in  considering  himself  to  be  Mr. 
Banks'  only  congenial  companion  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

On  the  day  of  the  first  snow  Dick  Goodine 
walked  over  to  Rayton's  farm  to  borrow  a  draw- 


Rayton  Confesses  135 

knife.  He  was  making  an  extra  pair  of  snow- 
shoes,  and  overhauling  his  outfit  for  the  winter's 
trapping.  Banks  and  Turk  were  afield,  looking  for 
hares  and  grouse;  but  Dick  found  the  Englishman 
in  his  red  barn,  threshing  buckwheat.  Rayton 
threw  his  flail  aside  and  the  two  shook  hands. 

"  Have  you  sech  a  thing  as  a  drawknife,  Mr. 
Rayton?" 

"  Two  of  them,  Dick.  I  use  them  mostly  to  cut 
my  fingers  with." 

"  Can  I  have  the  loan  of  one  for  a  few 
days?" 

"  I'll  give  you  one,  Dick.  You'll  be  doing  me  a 
kindness  to  take  it  and  keep  it,  old  chap,  for  I  am 
a  regular  duffer  with  edged  tools." 

He  found  the  knife  and  spent  ten  minutes  in 
forcing  it  upon  the  trapper  as  a  gift.  At  last  Dick 
accepted  it. 

"  But  I  tell  you  right  now,  Mr.  Rayton,"  he 
said,  "  I'll  git  mad  if  you  try  givin'  me  a  horse,  or 
a  cow,  or  your  farm.  You've  already  give  me 
something  of  pretty  near  everything  you  own.  It 
ain't  right." 

Rayton  laughed.  Then  his  face  became  sud- 
denly very  grave. 

"  See  here,  Dick,  I've  something  serious  to  say 


136  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

to  you,"  he  said.  "  Something  I've  been  worrying 
over  for  the  last  day  or  two.  You've  always  been 
honest  with  me  —  the  soul  of  honesty  —  so  I  must 
be  honest  with  you." 

"  What  have  I  bin  doin'  ?  "  asked  the  trapper 
uneasily. 

"  You?    Oh,  you  haven't  done  anything  that  you 
shouldn't,    old    man.     I    am    thinking    of    myself. 
You  told  me,  a  little  while  ago,  that  you  were- 
ah  —  very  fond  of  Miss  Harley.     But  you  told  me 
in  such  a  way,  old  man,  as  to  lead  me  to  think 
that  —  that  you  didn't  believe  yourself  to  have  — 
much  chance  —  in  the  quarter." 

"  That's  right,  Mr.  Ray  ton,"  replied  the  trapper 
frankly.  "  I  knew  there  wasn't  any  chance  for  me, 
and  I  know  it  still.  I  said  that  you  was  the  kind 
of  man  she'd  ought  to  marry,  some  day.  I'm  a 
good  trapper,  and  I  try  to  be  an  honest  friend  to 
them  as  act  friendly  to  me;  but  I'm  just  a  tough, 
ignorant  bushwhacker.  She  ain't  my  kind  —  nor 
David  Marsh's  kind  —  and  neither  is  Jim.  She's 
more  like  you  and  Mr.  Banks." 

Rayton  blushed  deeply. 

"  My  dear  chap,  you  must  not  talk  like  that," 
he  said.  "  You  live  in  the  bush,  of  course,  but 
so  do  I,  and  so  do  all  of  us.  But  —  but  what  I 


Rayton  Confesses  137 

want  to  say,  Dick,  is  this :    I  am  —  I  am  in  love 
with  Miss  Harley !  " 

"  Good  for  you !  "  exclaimed  the  trapper.  He 
extended  his  hand.  "  Lay  it  there !  And  good 
luck  to  you !  " 


CHAPTER   X 

RED    CROSSES   AGAIN 

"  I  AM  investigating  the  mysteries  of  Samson's 
Mill  Settlement  along  lines  of  my  own,"  said 
Harvey  P.  Banks.  "  My  system  of  detection  is 
not  perfect  yet,  but  it  is  good  enough  to  go  ahead 
with.  So  far  I  have  not  nailed  anything  down,  but 
my  little  hammer  is  ready,  I  can  tell  you.  I  am 
full  of  highly  colored  suspicions,  and  there  is  one 
thing  I  am  ready  to  swear  to." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  Reginald  Baynes  Rayton. 

"  Just  this,  Reginald.  I'll  eat  my  boots  —  and 
they  cost  me  twelve  plunks  —  if  the  burning  of 
young  Marsh's  camp  and  the  attack  upon  old 
Timothy  Fletcher  are  not  parts  of  the  same  game. 
I  don't  see  any  connection,  mind  you,  but  I'll  swear 
it  is  so.  I  have  two  pieces  of  this  picture  puzzle 
on  the  table,  and  I  am  waiting  for  more.  I  know 
that  these  two  pieces  belong  to  the  same  picture." 

"And  what  about  the  marked  card?"  inquired 
Rayton.  "  Is  it  part  of  your  puzzle?  " 

"  Certainly.     It  is  the  title  of  the  picture.     But 

138 


Red  Crosses  Again  139 

I  want  more  pieces,  and  just  at  this  stage  I  need 
another  game  of  poker.  Can  you  get  the  same 
bunch  of  players  together  for  to-night  —  and  Dick 
Goodine  ?  " 

"  I'll  try.  If  we  both  set  to  work  we  can  make 
the  round  this  afternoon.  Jim  Harley  is  home,  I 
know.  Why  do  you  want  Dick?  I  give  you  my 
word,  H.  P.,  that  you'll  not  find  him  one  of  the 
crooked  pieces  of  your  puzzle  picture." 

"  Right  you  are,  son!  But  he  has  sharp  eyes, 
and  as  he  is  our  friend  it  would  not  be  polite 
to  give  a  party  and  leave  him  out.  He  needn't 
play.  Somebody  must  sit  out,  anyway,  or  we'll 
have  too  many  for  a  good  game,  but  he  can  talk, 
and  look  on,  and  help  burn  tobacco." 

"  Good !  Then  we  must  get  Goodine,  Nash, 
Wigmore,  Marsh,  Jim  Harley,  and  Benjamin  Sam- 
son." 

"  Never  mind  Samson.  We  don't  need  him. 
He  is  harmless  and  hopeless  —  and  one  too  many. 
Also,  he  has  promised  Mrs.  Samson  never  to  stay 
out  again  after  ten  o'clock  at  night." 

"  All  serene.  We'd  better  start  out  with  our  in- 
vites right  after  grub.  And  as  the  roads  are  bad 
we  may  as  well  ride.  You  can  have  Buller  and 
I'll  take  Bobs.  Who  do  you  want  to  call  on?" 


140  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  I'll  see  Nash  and  Wigmore,  and  leave  the 
others  to  you." 

So,  after  the  midday  meal,  they  saddled  the  two 
farm  horses  and  set  out.  Mr.  Banks  rode  straight 
to  Captain  Wigmore's  house.  The  air  was  still 
mild  and  the  sky  was  clouded.  About  four  inches 
of  slushy  snow  lay  upon  the  half- frozen  ruts  of 
the  roads.  The  New  Yorker  hitched  Buller  in  an 
open  carriage  shed,  and  hammered  with  the  butt 
of  his  whip  upon  the  front  door.  He  waited  pa- 
tiently for  nearly  ten  minutes,  then  hammered 
again.  This  time  the  summons  brought  old  Tim- 
othy Fletcher,  looking  even  more  sullen  than  usual 
and  with  his  gray-streaked  hair  standing  up  like 
the  crest  of  some  grotesque  fowl.  His  eyes  had 
the  appearance  of  being  both  sharp  and  dull  at 
the  same  time.  They  showed  inner  points,  glinting 
like  ice,  and  an  outer,  blinking  film  like  the  shadow 
of  recent  sleep.  For  several  seconds  he  stood  with 
the  door  no  more  than  six  inches  ajar,  staring  and 
blinking  at  the  caller,  his  wind-tanned  brow  for- 
bidding, but  his  lower  face  as  expressionless  as  a 
panel  of  the  door. 

"Who  d'ye  want,  sir?"  he  inquired  at  last,  in 
a  grudging  voice. 

"Good!"    exclaimed    Mr.     Banks.      "I    really 


Red  Crosses  Again  141 

thought  you  were  asleep,  Timothy.  I  want  to 
speak  to  the  captain  for  a  few  minutes.  Is  he  at 
home?" 

Timothy  Fletcher  lowered  his  staring  eyes  for 
an  instant,  then  raised  them  again,  blinking  owl- 
ishly.  The  glint  in  their  depths  brightened,  and 
took  on  sharper  edges. 

"  What  d'ye  want  to  speak  to  him  about  ?  "  he 
asked  suspiciously. 

"  I'll  tell  that  to  your  master,"  replied  Mr.  Banks 
blandly. 

"He  ain't  at  home." 

"Not  at  home?     Guess  again,  my  good  man." 

"  I  tell  ye,  he  ain't  at  home !  " 

"  Not  so  fast,"  said  the  sportsman  coolly,  and 
with  astonishing  swiftness  he  advanced  his  heavily 
booted  right  foot,  and  thrust  it  across  the  threshold. 
The  door  nipped  it  instantly. 

"  It  is  not  polite  to  slam  doors  in  the  faces  of 
your  master's  friends,"  he  said. 

Then  he  threw  all  his  weight  against  the  door, 
flinging  it  wide  open  and  hurling  Timothy  Fletcher 
against  the  wall. 

"  I  don't  like  your  manners,"  he  said.  "  I  in- 
tend to  keep  my  eye  on  you.  I  give  you  fair  warn- 
ing, Timothy  Fletcher." 


142  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

The  old  fellow  stood  against  the  wall,  breathing 
heavily,  but  in  no  wise  abashed.  He  grinned  sar- 
donically. 

"  Warning?  "  he  gasped.  "  Ye  warn  me!  Chuck 
it!" 

Mr.  Banks  halted  and  gazed  at  him,  noting  the 
narrow,  heaving  chest  and  gray  face. 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  hurt  you.  I  opened  the 
door  a  trifle  more  violently  than  I  intended,"  he 
said. 

Fletcher  did  not  answer.  Banks  glanced  up  the 
stairs  and  beheld  Captain  Wigmore  standing  at  the 
top  and  smiling  down  at  him.  He  turned  sharply 
to  the  servant.  "  There !  "  he  whispered.  "  Just 
as  I  suspected!  You  were  lying." 

The  old  fellow  twisted  his  gray  face  savagely. 
That  was  his  only  answer. 

Timothy  retired  to  the  back  of  the  house  as 
Captain  Wigmore  descended  the  stairs.  The  cap- 
tain was  in  fine  spirits.  He  clasped  his  visitor's 
hand  and  patted  his  shoulder. 

"  Come  into  my  den,"  he  cried.  "  What'll  you 
have?  Tea,  whisky,  sherry?  Give  it  a  name,  my 
boy." 

"  A  drop  of  Scotch,  if  you  have  it  handy," 
replied  the  caller.  "  But  I  came  over  just  for  a 


Red  Crosses  Again  143 

moment,  captain,  to  see  if  you  can  join  us  to-night 
in  a  little  game  of  poker." 

"Delighted!  Nothing  I'd  like  better.  We've 
been  dull  as  ditch  water  lately,"  answered  the  cap- 
tain, as  he  placed  a  glass  and  decanter  before  his 
visitor.  "  Just  a  moment,"  he  added.  "  There  is 
no  water  —  and  there  is  no  bell  in  this  room. 
Timothy  has  a  strong  objection  to  bells." 

Wigmore  left  the  room,  returning  in  a  minute 
with  a  jug  of  water.  He  closed  the  door  behind 
him. 

"  Same  crowd,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "  and  the 
cards  cut  at  eight  o'clock." 

Banks  nodded,  and  sipped  his  whisky  and  water. 
"  Yes,  about  eight,"  he  answered.  "  We  don't  keep 
city  hours." 

"  Do  you  expect  the  marked  card  to  turn  up 
again?"  asked  Captain  Wigmore,  fixing  him  with 
a  keen  glance. 

The  New  Yorker  looked  slightly  disconcerted, 
but  only  for  a  fraction  of  a  second. 

"  Yes,  I  am  hoping  so,"  he  admitted.  "  I  want 
to  see  those  marks.  Do  you  think  there  is  any 
chance  of  the  thing  working  to-night?" 

"  That  is  just  what  I  want  to  know,"  returned 
the  captain.  "If  the  devil  is  at  the  bottom  of  that 


144  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

trick,  as  Jim  Harley  would  have  us  all  believe,  I 
see  no  reason  why  he  should  neglect  us  to-night. 
But,  seriously,  I  am  convinced  that  we  might  play 
a  thousand  games  and  never  see  those  two  red 
crosses  on  the  face  of  a  card  again.  It  was  chance, 
of  course,  and  that  the  Harleys  should  have  that 
family  tradition  all  ready  was  a  still  more  remarka- 
ble chance." 

Mr.  Banks  nodded.  "  We'll  look  for  you  about 
eight  o'clock,"  he  said,  and  then,  very  swiftly  for 
a  man  of  his  weight,  he  sprang  from  his  chair  and 
yanked  open  the  door.  There,  with  his  feet  at  the 
very  threshold,  stood  Timothy  Fletcher.  Banks 
turned  to  the  captain  with  a  gesture  that  drew  the 
old  man's  attention  to  the  old  servant's  position. 

"  I'd  keep  my  eye  on  this  man,  if  I  were  you," 
he  said.  "  I  have  caught  him  both  at  lying  and 
eavesdropping  to-day." 

"  Timothy,  what  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  such 
behavior  ?  "  cried  Wigmore  furiously. 

Timothy  leered,  turned,  and  walked  slowly  away. 

Mr.  Banks  mounted  his  horse  and  set  out  for 
Doctor  Nash's  at  a  bone-wrenching  trot. 

"  I'll  bet  a  dollar  old  Fletcher  is  at  the  bottom 
of  the  whole  business,"  he  murmured.  "  I  wonder 
where  Wigmore  picked  him  up.  He  looks  like 


Red  Crosses  Again  145 

something  lifted  from  the  bottom  of  the  sea." 
During  the  ride  to  the  doctor's,  and  throughout  the 
homeward  journey,  his  mind  was  busy  with  Tim- 
othy Fletcher.  When  he  reached  home  he  told 
something  of  his  new  suspicion  to  Rayton. 

"  How  could  that  poor  old  chap  have  got  at 
that  card?"  asked  Rayton.  "He  has  never  been 
inside  my  sitting  room  in  his  life." 

"  That  is  just  what  you  think,  Reginald,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Banks.  "  But  we'll  soon  know  all  about 
it,  you  take  my  word.  I  am  on  a  hot  scent ! " 

Jim  Harley  was  the  first  of  the  company  to 
arrive.  He  looked  worried,  but  said  nothing  about 
his  anxieties.  Next  came  young  Marsh,  with  his 
right  arm  in  a  sling  and  a  swagger  in  his  stride. 
Dick  Goodine  and  Captain  Wigmore  appeared  to- 
gether, having  met  at  the  gate.  The  captain  wore 
a  cutaway  coat,  a  fancy  waistcoat,  and  a  white  silk 
cravat  fastened  with  a  pearl  pin.  His  whiskers 
were  combed  and  parted  to  a  wish,  his  gray  hair 
was  slick  as  the  floor  of  a  roller-skating  rink,  and 
his  smiling  lips  disclosed  his  flashing  "  store  "  teeth. 
He  was  much  merrier  and  smarter  than  on  the  night 
of  the  last  game. 

Doctor  Nash  was  still  to  come. 

"  We'll  give  him  fifteen  minutes'   grace,"    said 


146  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

Rayton,  "  and  if  he  does  not  turn  up  by  then  we'll 
sit  in  to  the  game  without  him." 

"  He  is  trying  to  be  fashionable,"  said  Captain 
Wigmore.  "Poor  fellow!" 

Banks  produced  his  cigars  and  cigarettes.  David 
Marsh  drew  his  chair  close  up  to  Dick  Goodine's 
and  began  to  talk  in  guarded  tones. 

"  D'ye  know,  Dick,  I'm  mighty  upset,"  he  whis- 
pered. "  I'd  feel  easier  if  I  knew  you'd  done  me 
dirt  than  the  way  I  do  now.  I  can  stand  up  to  a 
man  —  but  this  here  mysterious  business  ain't  the 
kind  o'  thing  nobody  can  stand  up  to." 

"Scart?"  inquired  Dick. 

"  No,  I  ain't  scart.  Just  oneasy.  D'ye  reckon 
them  little  crosses  will  turn  up  to-night  ?  " 

"  Guess  not.  That  sort  o'  thing  don't  happen 
more'n  once." 

"  Will  you  swear  you  didn't  cut  my  canoe  pole, 
Dick  —  so  help  you  God !  " 

"  So  help  me  God,  I  didn't  cut  it  nor  harm  it  in 
any  way.  And  I  don't  know  who  did." 

"  I  believe  you  —  now.  I  guess  there's  some- 
thing worse  nor  you  on  my  trail.  If  that  marked 
card  turns  up  to-night,  and  comes  to  me,  I'll  git 
out  o'  the  country.  That'll  be  the  cheapest  thing 
to  do,  I  guess." 


Red  Crosses  Again  147 

"  I  wouldn't  if  I  was  you.  I'd  just  lay  low  and 
keep  my  eyes  skinned." 

Then  Doctor  Nash  arrived,  and  all  pulled  their 
chairs  to  the  table  except  Dick  Goodine.  They 
drew  for  cards  and  Mr.  Banks  produced  an  ace. 
The  pack  was  swiftly  shuffled,  cut,  and  dealt. 
David  Marsh  put  his  left  hand  on  the  table,  touched 
his  cards,  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  sprang 
to  his  feet.  His  face  was  twisted  with  a  foolish 
grin. 

"  I  guess  not !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It  ain't  good 
enough  for  me." 

The  captain,  having  settled  down  to  business,  had 
lost  his  sweet  and  playful  temper. 

"What's  that?"  he  snapped.  "Not  good 
enough !  What's  not  good  enough  ?  " 

"  The  risk  ain't  good  enough,"  replied  Marsh, 
sullenly  and  yet  with  an  attempt  at  lightness.  "  I 
don't  like  them  red  crosses.  I've  had  enough  of 
'em,  whoever  works  'em  —  man  or  devil  —  he's 
cured  me ! " 

"Cured  you?"  queried  Jim  Harley,  glancing  up 
from  his  hand. 

"  Yes,  cured  me !  "  cried  Marsh  forcibly,  "  and 
I  don't  care  who  knows  it.  I  ain't  'shamed  to  say 
it,  neither.  I've  broke  my  arm,  lost  a  canoe,  and 


148  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

a  camp  —  and  a  good  job!  Ain't  that  enough?  I 
quit!  I  quit  right  now." 

"  Do  you  mean  you'll  quit  playing  cards  ?  "  asked 
Raytoa 

"  I  guess  you  know  what  I  mean,"  retorted 
David.  "  And  I  guess  Jim  Harley  knows,  too." 

"  Oh,  shut  up !  "  snapped  old  Wigmore.  "  We 
came  here  to  play  poker,  not  to  listen  to  you.  Who 
sits  in  and  takes  this  heroic  gentleman's  place? 
Goodine,  it's  up  to  you." 

"  Don't  care  if  I  do,"  said  the  trapper;  so  he  and 
David  Marsh  changed  seats. 

The  game  went  on  for  half  an  hour  without  any 
fuss.  Doctor  Nash  was  winning.  Then,  after  a 
throwdown,  Rayton  gathered  up  the  old  pack  and 
replaced  them  with  a  new. 

"  You  are  growing  extravagant,  Reginald,"  said 
the  captain,  glancing  at  him  keenly. 

Rayton  laughed. 

"  I  hear  Turk  scratching,"  he  said.  "  Excuse  me 
for  half  a  minute." 

He  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  threw  the  old  pack 
of  cards  into  the  stove.  He  returned  immediately 
to  his  place  at  the  table  and  the  game  went  on. 
Nash's  pile  of  blue  chips  dwindled  steadily  and 
Dick  Goodine  began  to  stack  up  the  red,  white,  and 


Red  Crosses  Again  149 

blue.  Mr.  Banks  seemed  to  be  playing  a  slack 
game.  Captain  Wigmore  played  keenly  and  snapped 
at  every  one.  Ray  ton  left  his  chair  for  a  few 
seconds  and  placed  glasses,  a  decanter,  and  cold 
water  on  the  table. 

"  Help  yourselves,"  he  said.  "  We'll  have  coffee, 
and  something  to  eat,  later." 

Captain  Wigmore  waved  the  liquor  aside,  but 
the  others  charged  their  glasses.  Goodine  displayed 
three  aces  and  scooped  in  a  jack  pot  that  had  stood 
secure  and  accumulating  for  several  rounds. 

"  Hah,  Davy,  you  dropped  out  too  soon,"  said 
Nash.  "  You  got  cold  feet  at  the  wrong  time  of 
day.  Don't  you  wish,  now,  that  you'd  stayed  in 
the  game?  " 

"  Wouldn't  risk  it,  doc  —  not  even  for  a  ten- 
dollar  pot,"  replied  Marsh. 

"  Bah !  "  exclaimed  old  Wigmore,  as  he  cut  the 
deck  for  Jim  Harley.  Jim  dealt.  Rayton  looked 
steadily  at  his  five  cards,  then  slipped  them  together 
between  thumb  and  finger,  and  tilted  his  chair  well 
back  from  the  table. 

"  You  look  as  if  you'd  been  given  something 
pretty  good,"  said  Captain  Wigmore. 

"  Not  half  bad,"  answered  the  Englishman 
quietly. 


150  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  On  the  side,"  said  Nash,  "  I  bet  you  a  dollar, 
even,  that  I  hold  the  best  hand  —  pat." 

Rayton  shook  his  head.  "  Not  this  time,  Nash, 
if  you  don't  mind,"  he  replied  quietly.  "  I  want 
to  take  cards." 

"  That's  easily  managed,"  persisted  the  doctor. 
"  I  want  cards,  too ;  but  we  can  lay  our  discards 
aside  and  show  them  later.  Come,  be  a  sport! 
Thought  all  Englishmen  were  sports." 

Rayton  hesitated,  flushing. 

"  Right-o !  "  he  said.  "  But  I'll  not  be  what  you 
call  a  sport  on  one  dollar!  Twenty-five  is  my  bet, 
Nash  —  even  money.  Come !  How  does  that  suit 
you?" 

"  It  doesn't  suit  me  at  all  —  thanks  just  the 
same,"  returned  the  doctor  sullenly. 

"  Perhaps  you'll  leave  the  English  sporting  in- 
stinct alone,  after  this,"  said  Mr.  Banks. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  get  on  with  the  game !  " 
cried  old  Wigmore. 

All  "  came  in  "  and  took  cards.  Rayton  asked 
for  two,  and  though  he  did  not  bet,  he  kept  the 
five  cards  in  his  hand.  Wigmore  took  the  money, 
this  time. 

"  Supper,"  said  the  Englishman  quickly,  and 
gathered  up  all  the  cards  with  swift  hands,  his  own 


Red  Crosses  Again  151 

included.  He  entered  the  kitchen  quickly,  and  they 
heard  him  clattering  about  the  stove. 

After  supper  the  game  went  on,  with  another 
fresh  pack  of  cards.  They  had  been  playing  for 
about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  when  Captain  Wigmore 
suddenly  began  to  chuckle. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?  .  Have  you  laid 
an  egg?"  asked  Nash  insolently. 

For  a  second  the  old  man's  face  was  twisted  with 
white-hot  rage  and  his  eyes  fairly  flamed  upon 
the  doctor.  He  trembled  —  then  smiled  calmly. 

"  Some  one  has,  evidently,"  he  said,  and  spread 
his  five  cards  face-up  upon  the  table.  He  pointed 
at  the  ace  of  clubs  with  a  lean  finger.  It  was 
marked  with  two  little  red  crosses! 

"  You !  "  cried  Jim  Harley,  staring  incredulously 
from  the  card  to  the  old  man  and  back  again  to 
the  card. 

Nash  and  David  Marsh  began  to  laugh  uproar- 
iously. Goodine  and  Rayton  looked  bewildered, 
and  Banks  scratched  his  head  reflectively. 

"  That  beats  the  band ! "  cried  Nash,  at  last. 
"  Jim,  the  spook  who  works  that  family  curse  of 
yours  must  be  going  daffy.  Good  for  you,  cap- 
tain! There's  life  in  the  old  dog  yet!  No  wonder 
you  are  dressed  up  so  stylish." 


152  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

He  leaned  halfway  across  the  table,  guffawing  in 
the  old  man's  face. 

Wigmore's  hands  darted  forward.  One  gripped 
Nash's  necktie,  and  the  other  darted  into  an  inner 
pocket  of  his  coat. 

"  Here !  Drop  it,  you  old  devil !  "  cried  the 
doctor. 

Captain  Wigmore  sat  back  in  his  chair,  laughing 
softly.  He  held  something  in  his  hand  —  some- 
thing that  they  had  all  seen  him  draw  from  Nash's 
pocket. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  look  at  this.  It  is  an- 
other card  marked  with  the  two  red  crosses.  I 
took  it  from  the  pocket  of  our  worthy  young  pill 
roller.  Who'd  ever  have  thought  that  he  was  the 
mysterious  indicator  of  trouble  —  the  warning  of 
the  gods  —  the  instrument  of  fate?" 

"You  darned  old  fool!"  cried  Nash,  "that  is 
the  same  card  that  was  dealt  to  Davy  Marsh 
last  time  we  played.  You  know  it  as  well  as 
I  do,  you  old  ape!  Look  at  it.  Look  at 
the  back  of  it.  Here,  Rayton,  you  take  a  look 
at  it." 

"  It  is  the  same  old  card,"  said  Rayton.  "  Nash 
took  it  away  with  him  that  night." 

"  Ah !    My  mistake,"  said  the  captain  mildly. 


Red  Crosses  Again  153 

When  the  company  left  the  house,  Ray  ton  called 
Jim  Harley  back. 

"  I  can't  make  it  out,"  he  said,  looking  from 
Banks  to  Harley,  "  but  I  want  you  chaps  to  know 
that  two  marked  cards  were  dealt  to  me  before 
supper.  I  kept  quiet  and  changed  the  pack  each 
time." 

Harley  clutched  the  Englishman's  shoulder. 

"  You ! "  he  exclaimed,  with  colorless  lips. 
"Twice!  Is  that  true?" 

"Yes,  it's  true;  but  it  is  nonsense,  of  course," 
returned  the  Englishman. 

"  Don't  worry,  Jim,"  said  Mr.  Banks  calmly. 
"  The  thing  is  all  a  fake  —  and  I  mean  to  catch 
the  faker  before  I  leave  Samson's  Mill  Settlement!  " 


CHAPTER   XI 

AN  UNFORTUNATE  MOMENT  FOR  THE  DOCTOR 

THE  morning  after  the  second  card  party  found 
Banks  and  Rayton  eating  an  early  breakfast  with 
good  appetites.  If  Rayton  felt  uneasy,  face  and 
manner  showed  nothing  of  it.  The  big  New 
Yorker  was  in  the  highest  spirits.  He  had  found 
an  unfamiliar  sport  —  a  new  form  of  hunting  - 
a  twisted,  mysterious  trail,  with  the  Lord  knows 
what  at  the  far  end  of  it.  He  was  alert,  quiet, 
smiling  to  himself.  He  ate  five  rashers  of  bacon, 
drank  three  cups  of  coffee,  and  then  lit  a  cigar. 

"  I'll  have  my  finger  on  him  within  the  week," 
he  said,  leaning  back  in  his  chair. 

The  Englishman  glanced  up  at  him,  and  smiled. 

"  I  do  not  think  we  should  encourage  the  idiot 
by  paying  any  further  attention  to  his  silly  tricks," 
he  said.  "  Whoever  he  is,  let  him  see  that  he  does 
not  amuse  or  interest  any  one  but  himself.  Then 
he'll  get  tired  and  drop  it.  The  whole  thing  is 
absolute  foolishness,  and  the  man  at  the  bottom  of 
it  is  a  fool." 

154 


An  Unfortunate  Moment  155 

"  I  mean  to  trail  him,  and  pin  him  down,  fool 
or  no  fool,"  replied  Banks.  "  I'll  make  him  pay 
dear  for  his  fooling,  by  thunder!  He  is  having  his 
fun  —  and  I  mean  to  have  mine." 

Rayton  laughed.  "  Go  ahead  and  have  your  fun, 
old  chap;  but  I  tell  you  that  the  more  notice  you 
pay  his  silly  tricks,  the  more  you  tickle  his  vanity." 

"  I'll  tickle  more  than  his  vanity  before  I'm  done 
with  him,"  promised  Banks. 

The  two  were  washing  the  dishes,  when  the 
kitchen  door  opened,  and  Dick  Goodine  stepped 
into  the  room. 

"  We're  in  for  another  spell  o'  soft  weather," 
he  said.  "  It's  mild  as  milk  this  mornin'.  This 
little  lick  o'  snow'll  be  all  gone  by  noon.  It  don't 
look  as  if  I'll  ever  get  into  the  woods  with  my 
traps." 

He  sat  down,  filled  and  lit  his  pipe,  and  put  his 
feet  on  the  hearth  of  the  cookstove. 

"  That  was  an  all-fired  queer  thing  about  old 
Wigmore,"  he  said.  "  All  the  fools  ain't  dead  yet, 
I  reckon.  Since  the  captain  got  that  there  card, 
the  thing  don't  look  as  serious  to  me  as  it  did. 
Not  by  a  long  shot !  What  d'you  say,  Mr.  Banks?  " 

"  You  are  right,  Dick,  according  to  your  lights," 
replied  the  New  Yorker. 


156  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

The  trapper  looked  puzzled. 

"  He  means  that  you  don't  know  all  the  par- 
ticulars of  what  happened  last  night,"  said  Rayton. 
"  Captain  Wigmore  got  the  marked  card,  right 
enough,  after  supper  —  but  I  got  it  twice,  be- 
fore supper.  That  is  the  puzzling  part  of  it, 
Dick." 

The  care-free  smile  fled  from  Goodine's  hand- 
some and  honest  countenance.  His  dark  cheeks 
paled,  and  a  shadow,  starting  far  down,  came  up 
to  the  surface  of  his  eyes. 

"You!"  he  exclaimed.  "Twice  —  before  sup- 
per! That  —  that  looks  bad  to  me.  That's  the 
worst  yet." 

"  My  dear  chap,  if  the  silly  thing  was  dealt  to 
me  every  night,  and  chucked  into  my  bedroom  win- 
dow every  morning,  it  wouldn't  be  a  jot  less  silly," 
replied  Rayton.  "  Some  idiot,  who  has  heard  Jim 
Harley's  story,  is  trying  to  have  some  fun  out  of 
it.  That  is  all.  It  amuses  him  evidently,  and 
doesn't  hurt  us." 

Dick  Goodine  shook  his  head.  "  I  guess  it  hurt 
David  Marsh,"  he  said  — "  whatever  it  may  be. 
It  smashed  his  arm,  an'  pretty  near  drownded  him, 
an'  burned  his  camp,  an'  about  fifty  dollars'  worth 
o'  gear  an'  grub.  That  don't  look  much  like  fun 


An  Unfortunate  Moment  157 

to  me  —  not  like  fun  for  the  man  who  gets  the 
card,  anyhow.  I'll  tell  you  right  now,  if  ever  it 
comes  to  me  I'll  light  out  within  the  hour,  an'  hit 
the  trail  for  my  trappin'  grounds  over  beyond  the 
back  o'  nowhere." 

"  Don't  believe  it,  Dick." 

"But  that's  just  what  I'd  do  all  the  same.  It 
ain't  natural.  It's  more  nor  a  game,  I  tell  you 
—  it's  like  something  I've  read  about,  somewheres 
or  other." 

"  You're  wrong  there,  Dick,"  said  Mr.  Banks. 
"  It  is  a  game  —  a  dangerous  one,  maybe,  but  a 
game,  for  all  that.  I'll  show  you  the  player,  one 
of  these  days,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Harvey  P. 
Banks!  In  the  meantime,  Dick,  I'll  bet  you  five 
dollars  that  if  you  happened  to  be  picked  out  to 
receive  those  red  marks,  as  Reginald  has  been 
picked  out  —  for  the  same  reason,  I  mean,  accord- 
ing to  the  family  tradition  —  you'd  not  budge  an 
inch  or  back  water  half  a  stroke.  You'd  just  put 
your  finger  to  your  nose  at  the  warning,  as  Reginald 
does,  even  if  you  thought  Fate,  family  curses, 
Spanish  ghosts,  old  Jackson,  and  the  devil  were 
all  on  your  trail." 

The  color  came  back  to  the  trapper's  cheeks.  He 
lowered  his  glance  to  the  toes  of  his  steaming  boots 


158  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

on  the  hearth  of  the  stove,  and  shifted  uneasily  in 
his  chair. 

"  I  guess  yer  right,"  he  said  huskily.  "  I  guess 
I'd  be  brave  enough  to  face  it,  devil  an'  all,  if  I 
had  that  reason  to  be  brave.  But  I  ain't  got  that 
reason,  an'  never  will  have  —  so  I'm  scart.  I'm 
a  durned  ignorant  bushwhacker,  I  reckon.  Any- 
how, I'm  scart." 

Ratyton  placed  a  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder  for 
a  second. 

"  That  is  like  you,"  he  said.  "  You  are  more 
frightened  about  your  friend  than  you'll  ever  be 
about  yourself.  But  cheer  up,  old  man!  I  don't 
think  Fate  will  break  any  canoe  poles  on  me." 

"  Fate ! "  repeated  Mr.  Banks,  laughing  mer- 
rily. "  Oh,  you  are  safe  enough  from  Fate,  Reg- 
inald!" 

But  Dick  Goodine  shook  his  head. 

During  the  morning,  Rayton  went  over  to  the 
Harley  place.  The  sun  was  glowing  with  a  heat 
as  of  September,  and  the  snow  was  already  a  mix- 
ture of  slush  and  mud.  Dick  Goodine  went  about 
his  business;  and  Mr.  Banks  sat  by  the  kitchen 
stove,  smoking  and  struggling  with  his  puzzle. 
Rayton  found  Jim  Harley  in  the  barnyard.  Jim's 
greeting  was  emotional.  He  gripped  the  English- 


An  Unfortunate  Moment  159 

man's  hand,  and  looked  steadily  into  his  face  with 
troubled  eyes. 

"  I  was  just  going  over  to  see  you,"  he  said. 
"  I'm  glad  you're  here.  I  —  I  feel  pretty  '  bad 
about  you,  Reginald  —  mighty  bad,  I  can  tell 
you !  " 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Jim,  what's  the  trouble?" 
asked  Ray  ton.  "  What  have  I  done  —  or  what 
d'you  think  I've  done?" 

Harley  flushed.  "  You  know  what  the  trouble 
is  —  what  is  worrying  me,"  he  said.  "  You  have 
not  done  anything.  I  am  thinking  of  the  marked 
card,  as  you  know  very  well." 

Rayton  laughed,  and  slapped  the  other  on  the 
back. 

"Laugh,  if  you  choose,"  returned  Harley;  "but 
I  tell  you  it  is  no  laughing  matter.  Have  you  for- 
gotten what  I  told  you  about  those  red  crosses? 
Have  you  forgotten  the  manner  of  my  father's 
death?  Great  heavens,  man,  it  is  nothing  to  laugh 
about!  Those  marks  have  brought  two  men  to 
their  death.  And  there's  Marsh!  He  came  within 
an  inch  of  being  drowned  that  day  his  pole  broke. 
Of  course,  you  think  I  am  a  fool.  You  may  call 
me  one  if  you  want  to.  But,  for  God's  sake,  get  out 
of  here  until  the  danger  passes!  That's  all  I  ask, 


160  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

Rayton.  Get  out!  Get  away  from  this  settlement 
for  a  little  while !  " 

The  smile  left  the  Englishman's  face,  and  he 
gaped  at  his  friend  in  utter  astonishment. 

"  Get  out?  "  he  repeated,  in  a  dazed  voice.  "  Get 
out?  What  for?  What  good  would  that  do  to 
any  one?  What  —  in  the  name  of  all  that's  sensi- 
ble—  are  you  driving  at?" 

"  Get  away  from  here  —  away  from  me  —  and 
save  yourself,"  replied  Harley.  "  Don't  you  under- 
stand? This  trouble  is  all  our  fault  —  all  due  to 
my  sister.  Don't  you  see  that?  Then  get  away 
from  us !  Drop  us,  and  clear  out !  " 

'  To  save  myself  from  the  curse  of  the  little  red 
marks  on  the  card,  I  suppose?" 

:<  Yes,  yes.  Go  away  and  save  yourself.  That 
is  what  I  ask  you,  Rayton." 

'  You  really  believe,  then,  in  the  power  of 
those  crosses?  You  really  believe  that  my  life 
is  in  danger  —  that  I  have  been  marked  by 
Fate?" 

"  I  only  know  what  those  crosses  have  done  in 
the  past.  The  evil  is  not  in  the  marks,  though. 
Don't  think  I'm  quite  a  fool!  But  they  are  sent 
as  a  warning  —  by  some  unknown  enemy  of  ours. 
Can't  you  see  that,  Rayton?  My  father  was  mur- 


An  Unfortunate  Moment  161 

dered  after  receiving  a  card  marked  with  those 
crosses.  David  Marsh's  life  was  attempted!  Don't 
you  see  ?  We  have  a  bitter,  hidden  enemy !  " 

"  No,  I  don't !  "  retorted  Rayton,  with  spirit.  "  I 
don't  think  Marsh's  life  was  attempted.  Great 
heavens,  Jim,  didn't  a  canoe  pole  ever  break  in  this 
country  before?  And  didn't  a  shack  ever  burn 
down  before?  Buck  up  and  look  at  the  thing  like 
a  sensible  man!  What  happened  to  that  young 
bounder  Marsh  was  nothing  but  chance.  You 
make  me  angry,  'pon  my  word  you  do!  But  don't 
think  for  a  minute  that  you  can  make  me  angry 
enough  to  run  away  —  or  that  you  can  scare  me 
away.  I  stand  pat;  but  if  my  house  catches  fire, 
or  anything  of  that  kind  happens,  then  I'll  set  to 
work  and  dig  up  the  fool  who  hands  out  those 
marked  cards,  and  land  him  in  jail." 

"  I  have  asked  you  to  go,  for  your  own  sake.  I 
can't  do  anything  more,"  returned  Harley. 

Rayton  gazed  at  him  earnestly,  eye  to  eye;  but 
Harley  kept  his  eyes  steady. 

"  Jim,  that  sounds  queer,"  he  said.  "  It  sounds 
like  some  rot  that  Nash  was  talking,  not  long  ago. 
Perhaps  you  know  what  I  mean.  Nash's  idea  was 
that  you  dealt  the  marked  card  to  Marsh,  and  then 
invented  the  story,  just  to  scare  Marsh  away  from 


162  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

your  sister.  Now  he  will  say  that  you  are  trying 
to  frighten  me  away." 

"  He  is  a  liar !  "  cried  Harley. 

"  I  know  your  story  is  true,"  said  the  English- 
man, "  and  I  know  you  are  just  as  much  in  the 
dark  about  those  cards  as  I  am;  but  if  you  go  on 
like  this,  old  chap,  other  people  will  think  as  Nash 
thinks.  Nash  is  not  the  only  fool  in  these  woods. 

"And  I  want  to  tell  you  that  even  if  you  were 
trying  to  frighten  me  away  from  here  you  couldn't 
do  it !  That's  my  position,  Jim.  I  am  here  —  and 
here  I  stay !  Whoever  marks  those  cards  is  a  harm- 
less idiot.  I  love  your  sister  —  though  she  doesn't 
know  it,  yet  —  and  the  only  thing  that  can  chase 
me  away  from  her  is  her  own  word.  So  save  your 
anxiety  for  me,  old  chap,  and  keep  your  wind  to 
cool  your  porridge.  Also,  think  the  thing  over 
quietly;  and,  if  it  continues  to  worry  you,  go  hunt- 
ing for  the  man  who  makes  a  fool  of  you  by  mark- 
ing those  cards.  Good  morning." 

Reginald  Rayton  turned  and  strode  away  with- 
out waiting  for  an  answer  to  his  last  long  speech. 
He  was  angry  —  hot  and  cold  with  it,  from  his 
head  to  his  feet.  He  had  been  excited  into  a 
premature  disclosure  of  his  sentiments  toward  Nell 
Harley.  He  had  been  talked  to  like  a  fool  —  and 


An  Unfortunate  Moment  163 

he  had  talked  like  a  fool.  He  was  furious.  He 
felt  the  need  of  some  one  to  punch  and  kick.  It 
was  years  since  he  had  last  been  in  such  a  wax. 
And  this  was  his  mood  when  Doctor  Nash  ap- 
peared over  the  brow  of  a  hill  in  front,  driving 
toward  him  in  a  mud-splashed  buggy.  Nash  drew 
rein  within  a  yard  of  the  Englishman.  The  Eng- 
lishman halted.  Nash  leaned  forward,  and  grinned. 

;<  That  was  a  good  one,  last  night,"  he  remarked. 
"  A  good  joke  on  old  Wigmore ;  but  I  don't  quite 
see  the  point  of  it.  Do  you?" 

"No.  Is  there  supposed  to  be  any  point?"  re- 
turned Rayton. 

"  Sure !  What  d'ye  think  it's  all  about  if  there 
isn't  a  point  to  it?  You  fellows  are  lobsters,  I 
must  say,  if  you  are  still  cloudy  on  that  business. 
Those  marks  are  warnings  —  oh,  yes !  But  they 
are  not  sent  by  Fate.  They  are  sort  of  '  keep  off 
the  grass '  signs  issued  and  posted  by  a  very  dear 
friend  of  yours.  Last  night  he  felt  my  eye  on 
him,  and  so  threw  the  bluff.  It  worked  pretty 
well,  too.  It  had  me  guessing  for  about  an  hour; 
and  then  I  thought  it  over  after  I  went  to  bed, 
and  got  it  all  straight  and  clear." 

"  I  am  glad  that  some  one  has  it  straight  and 
clear,"  said  Rayton.  "I  am  in  the  dark,  myself; 


164  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

but  I  agree  with  you  that  the  deal  to  Wigmore 
was  a  bluff.  I  am  positive  about  this  because  a 
marked  card  came  to  me  twice  before  supper." 

Nash  uttered  a  derisive  whistle,  then  slapped  his 
knee  with  an  open  hand. 

"  I  might  have  guessed  it !  "  he  cried.  "  So  it's 
your  turn,  is  it?  Keep  off  the  grass,  Reginald. 
Good  old  Jim!  He  knows  what  he's  about." 

"What  are  you  driving  at?"  demanded  the 
Englishman.  "  What  has  Jim  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

He  had  heard  the  doctor's  theory  before,  but 
wanted  first-hand  proof  of  it  —  and  he  was  look- 
ing for  an  excuse  for  letting  loose. 

"What  has  Jim  to  do  with  it?"  repeated  Nash 
sneeringly.  "  Why,  you  lobster,  he  has  everything 
to  do  with  it.  He's  it!  What's  your  head  made 
of,  anyway?  A  block  out  of  the  oak  walls  of  old 
England,  I  suppose." 

Rayton  averted  his  face. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  Jim  has  anything  to  do 
with  the  marks  on  those  cards  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a 
faint  and  unsteady  voice. 

"You  lobster!  He  marks  them,  and  he  deals 
them !  "  cried  Nash. 

Rayton  faced  him. 

"  You  are  a  liar,"  he  said  quietly.     "  Not  only 


"PLUNGED  AT  RAYTON,  WITH  HIS  FISTS  FLYING. 


An  Unfortunate  Moment  165 

that,  but  you  are  a  bounder.  Better  whip  up  your 
nag  and  drive  away,  or  I'll  be  tempted  to  pull  you 
out  onto  the  road  and  give  you  what  you  need. 
You  are  a  disgrace  to  this  settlement."  He  stepped 
back  to  the  edge  of  the  road.  "  Drive  along,  fat 
head,"  he  commanded. 

But  Nash  did  not  drive  along.  He  had  a  great 
opinion  of  himself  —  of  his  physical  as  well  as 
his  mental  powers.  He  hung  the  reins  on  the  dash- 
board. 

"  Do  you  mean  that?  "  he  asked.  "  Are  you  try- 
ing to  insult  me?  Or  are  you  drunk?" 

"  I  am  not  drunk.  Yes,  I  am  trying  to  in- 
sult you.  It  is  rather  a  difficult  thing  to  do,  I 
know." 

"  Steady,  Champion ! "  cried  Nash  to  his  nod- 
ding horse.  Then  he  jumped  over  the  wheel, 
threw  aside  his  hat  and  overcoat,  and  plunged  at 
Rayton,  with  his  fists  flying.  He  smote  the  air. 
He  flailed  the  sunlight.  He  punched  holes  in  the 
out  of  doors.  At  last  he  encountered  something 
hard  —  not  with  his  fist,  however,  but  with  an 
angle  of  his  face.  With  a  futile  sprawl,  he  meas- 
ured his  considerable  length  in  the  mud  and  slush 
of  the  highway.  So  he  lay  for  a  little  while,  one 
leg  flapping,  then  scrambled  slowly  to  his  feet.  He 


166  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

gazed  around  in  a  dazed  way,  and  at  last  rested  his 
glance  upon  Ray  ton. 

"  See  here !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  that  —  that's  no 
way  to  do!  Can't  you  fight  fair?  What  did  you 
hit  me  with?" 

The  Englishman  lifted  his  right  fist,  and  pointed 
at  it  with  the  index  finger  of  his  left  hand. 

"  That  is  what  I  hit  you  with,"  he  said  in  mat- 
ter-of-fact tones.  "  But  if  you  don't  think  that 
fair,  I'll  land  my  left  next  time." 

"  Don't  trouble,"  replied  Nash.  "  I'm  no  match 
for  a  professional  prize  fighter.  That's  not  my 
line." 

"  Oh,  cheer  up !    We've  just  begun." 

"  I've  finished." 

"  In  that  case  you  can  take  back  what  you  said 
about  Jim  Harley." 

"What  did  I  say?"  asked  the  doctor,  making 
a  furtive  step  toward  his  trap. 

Rayton  advanced.  "  Quick !  "  he  cried.  "  Call 
yourself  a  liar,  or  I'll  try  another  prod  at  you!  " 

"  Leave  me  alone.  D n  you !  I'll  have  the 

law  on  you  for  this.  Keep  off!  Mind  what  you're 
about.  Keep  your  distance,  I  say.  Yes,  yes! 
You're  right.  I'm  a  liar.  I'm  a  liar! " 

He  jumped  into  his  buggy,  wakened  Champion 


An  Unfortunate  Moment  167 

with  a  cut  of  the  whip,  and  drove  away  at  a  gallop, 
leaving  his  hat  and  overcoat  on  the  side  of  the 
road.  For  a  minute  Ray  ton  stood  and  gazed  after 
the  bouncing  vehicle.  Then  he  picked  up  the  hat 
and  coat,  and  placed  them  on  the  top  rail  of  the 
fence. 

"  That  is  the  worst  thing  I  ever  saw  in  the  way 
of  a  doctor,"  he  said.  "  Most  of  them  are  mighty 
good  fellows  —  and  I  didn't  know  before  that  any 
of  them  were  quitters.  But  that  chap?  Why,  he's 
a  disgrace  to  a  pill  box.  Hope  he'll  come  back  for 
his  duds,  though." 

Mr.  Reginald  Baynes  Rayton  turned,  and  con- 
tinued on  his  homeward  way,  swinging  his  feet 
well  in  front  of  him,  and  expanding  his  chest. 
But  presently  he  lost  the  air  of  the  conquering  hero. 
Misgivings  assailed  him.  He  had  picked  a  fight 
simply  because  he  was  in  a  bad  temper.  He  had 
called  a  more  or  less  harmless  individual  names, 
and  then  punched  him  in  the  jaw  and  forced  him 
to  call  himself  a  liar. 

"  I'm  ashamed  of  myself,"  he  murmured. 
"  What  has  become  of  my  manners?  " 

He  reached  his  house,  and  found  Mr.  Banks 
in  the  kitchen,  still  reflectively  consuming  to- 
bacco. 


168  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Reginald?"  in- 
quired the  New  Yorker.  "  You  look  excited." 

"  I  am,"  replied  Rayton,  and  told  frankly  but 
briefly  of  his  talk  with  Jim  Harley  and  of  his  fight 
with  Nash. 

"  I  am  glad  you  punched  Nash,  for  I  don't  like 
the  animal,"  said  Banks.  "  But  why  in  thunder 
didn't  you  trim  Harley  first?  He  insulted  you." 

"  He  didn't  mean  to  insult  me.  He  believes  in 
the  potency  of  those  red  crosses.  It  is  a  matter  of 
family  pride  with  him,"  answered  Rayton. 


I 

CHAPTER   XII 

RAYTON    IS    REMINDED    OF    THE    RED    CROSSES 

THE  snow  vanished  during  the  day,  under  the 
unseasonable  glow  of  the  sun;  but  with  evening 
came  a  biting  frost  and  a  choking,  quiet  wind  out 
of  a  clear  sky.  The  next  morning  lifted  bright  and 
cold,  with  a  glint  of  ice  over  all  the  wilderness, 
but  not  so  much  as  a  patch  or  tatter  of  snow  any- 
where. 

Banks  and  Ray  ton  breakfasted  by  lamplight,  for 
they  had  planned  a  morning  after  ruffled  grouse. 
The  sun  was  just  over  the  eastern  forests  when 
they  stepped  out  from  the  warm  kitchen  to  the 
frosted  open,  buttoned  their  fur-lined  gloves,  and 
turned  up  the  collars  of  their  blanket  "  jumpers." 
They  separated  at  a  spur  of  spruces  and  firs  that 
thrust  itself,  like  a  green  buttress,  into  the  yellow- 
brown  of  a  back  pasture. 

"  You  can  have  Turk.  He  may  find  you  a  be- 
lated woodcock  or  two,"  said  Rayton. 

So  Banks  swung  to  the  left,  and  entered  the 
169 


170  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

forest,  with  the  obedient,  eager  dog  at  his  heels, 
and  a  trail  of  fragrant  smoke  drifting  over  his 
shoulder,  pure  blue  in  the  sunshine. 

Rayton  entered  the  woods  to  the  right.  He 
walked  carelessly  through  the  underbrush,  heedless 
of  everything  about  him,  and  of  the  gun  in  the 
hollow  of  his  arm,  grieving  over  his  conversation 
the  day  before  with  the  brother  of  the  woman  he 
loved.  Had  Jim  really  expected  him  to  behave 
like  a  coward  —  to  run  away  from  the  marked 
cards?  Had  Jim  no  better  opinion  of  him  than 
that?  He  wondered  if  Nell  knew  that  the  cards 
had  been  dealt  to  him?  And  if  so,  how  she  felt 
about  it?  Had  Jim  told  her  of  their  heated  argu- 
ment, and  of  his  —  Rayton's  —  childish  exhibition 
of  temper?  That  would  not  strengthen  his  chances 
with  her.  And  what  would  she  think  of  him  when 
she  heard  of  his  crude  outbreak  against  Doctor 
Nash?  He  trembled  at  the  question. 

'  Those  red  crosses  may  be  my  undoing,  after 
all,  in  a  sneaking  roundabout  way,"  he  reflected. 

A  bird  went  whirring  up  from  close  in  front  of 
his  trampling  feet,  and  got  safely  away.  He  halted, 
leaned  his  gun  against  a  tree,  and  lit  his  pipe. 

"  I  must  keep  my  wits  about  me,"  he  said,  "  and 
stop  worrying  about  those  silly  cards,  or  every- 


Rayton  is  Reminded  of  the  Crosses  171 

thing  will  get  away  from  me  —  birds  and  every- 
thing." 

He  sat  for  about  half  an  hour  on  a  convenient 
stump  in  a  patch  of  sunshine,  smoking,  and  work- 
ing himself  into  his  usual  happy  state  of  mind. 
He  dreamed  of  Nell  Harley.  He  had  visions  of 
her  —  and  he  discovered  a  golden  trail  of  thought, 
and  followed  it  into  a  golden  magical  future.  The 
cards,  the  argument  with  Jim,  and  the  fight  with 
Nash  were  all  forgotten.  At  the  end  of  the  half 
hour  he  continued  on  his  aimless  way. 

The  lanes  and  little  clearings  of  the  forest  were 
comfortably  warm,  for  the  sunlight  filled  them, 
and  the  wind  was  walled  away  from  them.  The 
peace  of  the  frost-nipped,  sun-steeped  wilderness 
soothed  and  healed  his  spirit.  He  moved  slowly, 
and  halted  frequently  to  spy  out  some  twittering 
chickadee  or  flitting  blue  jay,  to  gaze  up  at  the 
purple  spires  of  the  spruces,  or  down  at  some 
flaming,  grotesquely  shaped  toadstool.  He  loved 
it  all  —  every  stump,  shadow,  sound,  and  soaring 
wall  of  it,  every  flickering  wing  and  furtive  call, 
every  scent,  tone,  and  silence. 

He  tramped  onward,  comforted,  following  his 
whim.  At  noon  he  halted  beside  a  brown  brook, 
twisting  among  cedars  here,  alders  there.  He  had 


172  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

several  thick  slices  of  bread  and  butter  in  his 
pocket.  He  built  a  small  fire  at  the  edge  of  the 
stream,  skinned,  in  woodman's  style,  a  plump  par- 
tridge that  he  had  shot  an  hour  before,  broiled 
it  to  a  turn,  and  dined  to  a  wish.  After  his  meal, 
he  spent  a  dozing  hour  between  the  red  fire  and 
the  brown  stream,  with  the  stem  of  his  pipe  be- 
tween his  teeth,  and  great  dreams  behind  his  eyes. 

"  This  suits  me,"  he  murmured.  "  I'll  make  a 
day  of  it." 

He  got  to  his  feet  at  last,  picked  up  his  gun, 
and  followed  the  course  of  the  stream  downward, 
taking  his  time,  and  avoiding  all  tangles  of  under- 
brush and  difficult  places.  He  waked  up  several 
grouse,  and  got  one  clean  shot.  But  he  was  not 
keen  about  making  a  bag.  He  was  enjoying  him- 
self in  quite  another  way.  Had  there  been  paper 
and  pencil  in  his  pocket,  instead  of  feathers, 
crumbs  of  bread,  and  shreds  of  tobacco,  it  is  more 
than  likely  he  would  have  tried  to  write  a  poem; 
for  Mr.  Reginald  Baynes  Rayton  was  in  love  with 
a  woman,  and  in  love  with  nature  on  one  and  the 
same  golden  day.  Everything  was  forgotten  but 
the  quiet,  magical  joy  that  steeped  him  to  the  soul. 

It  was  about  mid-afternoon  when  Rayton  altered 
his  course  for  home.  He  studied  the  sky  and  his 


Rayton  is  Reminded  of  the  Crosses  173 

compass,  and  then  turned  his  back  to  the  brown 
brook.  He  calculated  that  this  line  would  take  him 
out  to  Samson's  Mill  Settlement  shortly  after  sun- 
set. 

An  hour  later  Rayton  was  still  far  from  home, 
and  among  tall  timber  and  heavy  underbrush. 
Red  rays  of  sun  flooded  from  the  west,  low  and 
level,  and  became  tangled  and  lost  among  the  black 
screens  of  the  forest.  Rayton  moved  slowly,  push- 
ing his  way  through  moosewood  saplings.  He 
halted,  drew  his  compass  from  an  inner  pocket, 
and  reassured  himself  as  to  his  position. 

And  then,  on  the  left,  a  rifle  shot  rang  out,  sharp 
and  vicious.  Rayton  jumped,  spun  round  on  his 
heels,  then  dashed  forward,  shouting  strongly  and 
angrily.  He  heard  the  swishing  and  crackling  of 
flight  ahead  of  him.  He  halted,  raised  his  fowling 
piece,  and  let  fly  both  barrels.  He  bellowed  mur- 
derous threats  after  the  retreating,  unseen  sniper. 

Then,  quick  as  lightning,  the  strength  went  out 
of  him.  Voice  and  knees  failed  together,  and  he 
sank  silently  to  the  forest  loam.  So  he  lay  for 
a  minute,  dizzy  and  faint,  and  stunned  with  won- 
der. In  a  dazed  way  he  set  all  his  senses  on  a 
vague  inquiry,  searching  for  pain.  But  he  felt 
no  pain  —  only  a  quick,  strong  pulsing  in  his  left 


174  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

shoulder.  He  took  note  of  this  cloudily.  Then,  of 
a  sudden,  his  brain  cleared,  and  anxiety  sprang  alive 
in  his  heart. 

He  sat  up,  and  put  his  right  hand  across  his 
body.  His  shoulder  —  the  thick  blanket  stuff  that 
covered  it  —  was  wet  and  hot.  He  held  his  hand 
close  to  his  eyes  in  the  waning  light,  and  saw  that 
it  was  reeking  red  from  finger  tips  to  wrist.  A 
gasp  of  dismay  escaped  him.  Again  he  felt  all 
about  the  wet  place  with  his  right  hand.  Now  the 
blood  was  streaming  down  his  arm.  He  discov- 
ered the  wound  —  a  tender  spot,  high  up. 

"  I  must  stop  it,"  he  muttered.  "  It's  working 
like  a  pump.  If  I  don't  plug  it  up,  or  tie  it  up, 
mighty  quick,  I'll  be  drained  dry." 

A  vision  of  his  bloodless  corpse  prone  on  the 
forest  moss  flashed  across  his  mind.  Then  he  set 
swiftly  and  cleverly  to  work  to  check  the  flow  of 
blood.  First,  he  made  a  thick  pad  of  dry  moss 
and  a  handkerchief,  and  bound  it  tightly  over  the 
wound  with  a  silk  scarf  from  his  neck.  Then  he 
removed  his  elastic  suspenders,  and  twisted  them 
over  his  shoulder  and  under  his  armpit  four  times. 
The  pulsing  became  fainter  and  fainter,  and  at  last 
could  not  be  felt  at  all. 

"  Thank  God !  "   he   exclaimed.      "  I   do  believe 


Rayton  is  Reminded  of  the  Crosses  175 

I've  done  the  trick.  Fine  thing,  these  patent 
Yankee  suspenders." 

He  got  to  his  feet,  swayed,  and  sat  down  again. 

"  I  must  have  lost  a  quart  or  two,"  he  muttered. 
"  No  head  —  no  knees  —  no  insides." 

He  sat  very  stiff  for  a  little  while  in  deep  but 
meaningless  thought.  His  mind  felt  like  a  feather 

—  a  puff  of  smoke  —  drifting  dust.     An    impish 
wind  was  blowing  it,  and  would  not  allow  it  to 
settle. 

"  This  is  queer,"  he  said.     "  Is  it  loss  of  blood 

—  or  shock?     Must  do  something." 

He  scrambled  to  his  feet  again,  picked  up  his 
gun,  and  pressed  forward  a  distance  of  about 
twenty  yards.  He  felt  a  tickling  in  his  shoulder 
again.  It  strengthened  to  a  faint  throbbing.  The 
horror  of  bleeding  to  death  returned  to  him  with 
a  grip  on  his  heart.  Pain  he  could  struggle  against, 
and  perhaps  dominate;  but  this  was  not  pain. 
This  was  tender  and  warm  —  this  flowing  out  of 
life. 

He  sat  down  again,  and  again  the  pulsing  quieted 
and  ceased.  He  saw  that  he  must  make  a  night 
of  it  in  the  woods,  unless  help  came  to  him.  He 
could  not  go  forward  in  search  of  help.  He  must 
keep  still  —  or  bleed  to  death.  He  saw  this  very 


176  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

clearly,  as  if  written  in  great  white  letters  on  a 
wall  of  blackness.  And,  more  dimly,  he  saw  the 
danger  of  freezing  during  the  long,  cold  night. 
Though  warmly  clothed,  he  had  no  blanket  or  wrap 
of  any  kind. 

Fire  was  the  only  thing  at  his  command  that 
could  keep  the  frost  away.  Reaching  about  with 
his  right  hand,  he  pulled  up  a  great  quantity  of 
dry  moss.  Then  he  shifted  his  position  a  little, 
and  repeated  the  operation.  His  arm  was  feeling 
numb  now,  and  he  could  not  detect  any  hint  of 
the  pulsing  sensation. 

Twilight  had  deepened  to  night  in  the  forest, 
and  a  still  cold  was  creeping  in  from  the  vast 
overhead  and  the  wide,  empty  portals  of  the  north. 
Rayton  felt  about  in  the  underbrush,  and  discov- 
ered plenty  of  dry  fuel,  some  of  it  even  lying 
detached  upon  the  ground.  He  piled  his  brush  and 
moss  to  one  side  of  the  irregular  circle  which  he 
had  cleared  down  to  the  rock  and  soil,  working 
with  the  least  possible  effort.  With  his  sheath 
knife  he  cut  some  living  brush,  some  young  spruces, 
and  a  few  small  saplings. 

By  this  time,  his  left  arm  and  side  were  aching 
dully,  but  his  head  felt  steadier.  He  placed  a  bunch 
of  moss,  twigs,  and  larger  sticks  in  the  cleared 


Rayton  is  Reminded  of  the  Crosses  177 

space,  and  struck  a  match.  The  flame  curled  up, 
grew,  crowned  the  dry  heap,  and  painted  the  crowd- 
ing walls  of  the  forest  with  red,  dancing  shadows. 
There  was  no  wind  —  nothing  astir  in  the  air  but 
the  drifting  frost.  The  smoke  of  the  fire  went 
straight  up  toward  the  high,  aching  stars,  and  the 
heat  spread  around  in  a  narrow  circle.  Ray- 
ton  squatted  close  to  the  fire,  and  fed  it  with 
more  dry  sticks,  and  soon  with  some  of  the  green 
wood. 

A  sudden  drowsiness  came  to  him  with  the  sooth- 
ing glow  of  the  fire.  He  fought  against  it  for 
a  few  minutes,  and  even  nerved  himself  to  crawl 
away  and  drag  in  a  large  half-rotted  stump.  He 
placed  this  valuable  addition  to  his  store  of  fuel 
fairly  on  the  top  of  the  fire,  banked  more  dry  stuff 
beneath  and  around  it,  and  then  lay  down  on  his 
couch  of  moss.  He  felt  comfortably  warm,  deli- 
ciously  sleepy,  and  absolutely  care  free.  The  pain 
in  his  arm  was  almost  as  numb  as  the  arm  itself. 
He  scarcely  noticed  it. 

"  This  isn't  so  very  bad,  after  all,"  he  murmured. 
"  So  long  as  that  pumping  doesn't  begin  again,  I 
really  don't  care." 

He  lay  on  his  right  side,  deep  in  the  dry  moss, 
and  gazed  into  the  fire.  He  saw  the  red  and  yel- 


178  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

low  flames  crawl  up  the  flanks  of  the  shattered  and 
hollow  stump. 

"  It  will  catch,"  he  murmured.  "  It  will  be  all 
right.  That's  —  a  good  —  fire.  I'll  just  lie  — 
here  —  and  watch  it  —  burn.  Don't  think  I'd  — 
better  —  go  to  sleep.  Not  sleepy  —  any  —  way." 

And  then  his  lids  slid  down;  and  in  his  dreams 
he  continued  to  watch  the  red  and  yellow  flames 
rise  and  fall,  creep  up,  bring  down,  and  mount 
again.  He  dreamed  that  he  did  not  sleep,  but  lay 
and  watched  the  fire  crown  the  shattered  stump 
and  gnaw  a  dozen  passages  into  its  hollow  heart. 
That  was  all  of  his  dream.  It  was  no  more  than 
a  picture,  as  far  as  progress  and  action  were  con- 
cerned. It  seemed  to  him  that  he  lay  deep  in  the 
dry  moss,  on  his  right  side,  with  his  eyes  wide 
open.  So,  for  a  few  minutes  —  and  then  the  fire 
died  down  suddenly  to  blackness  —  so  suddenly 
that  he  sat  bolt  upright,  and  uttered  a  cry  of  dis- 
may. 

It  had  been  a  dream.  Rayton  had  dreamed  the 
long  night  away,  thinking  himself  awake;  and 
now  the  cheerless  gray  of  a  November  dawn  was 
sifting  through  the  forest.  The  fire  was  a  patch 
of  dead  ashes.  The  air  was  bitterly  cold.  Rayton 
felt  stiff  and  sore.  His  hands  and  feet  were  like 


Rayton  is  Reminded  of  the  Crosses  179 

ice.  As  he  sank  back  upon  his  right  elbow,  a  sharp 
pain  stabbed  him  in  the  side.  He  groaned  piti- 
fully. 

"  This  is  worse  than  the  bullet  wound,"  he  mut- 
tered. "  And  this  is  all  my  own  fault  for  going 
to  sleep." 

His  shoulder,  fortunately,  neither  bled  nor 
pained  him.  The  blood  in  the  pad  of  moss  was 
dry.  The  arm  was  stiff,  owing  largely  to  the  grip 
of  the  elastic  suspenders  and  the  bandages ;  but  that 
was  only  to  be  expected.  This  hot  pain  in  the 
side,  however,  leaping  inward  with  every  breath 
and  movement,  told  him  of  a  serious  danger. 

"  I'll  just  warm  myself  a  bit,  and  then  get  out," 
he  said.  "  I  must  get  out,  this  time !  " 

He  managed  to  heap  up  an  armful  of  moss  and 
twigs,  and  set  it  alight.  He  crawled  close  to  the 
quick  flames,  almost  embracing  the  mound  of 
smoke  and  fire.  Little  sparks  flew  out,  and  fell 
upon  his  heavy,  frosted  clothing,  scorched  for  a 
little  while,  and  then  blinked  to  nothingness,  un- 
heeded. He  piled  on  more  fuel,  and  fairly 
breathed  the  heat  into  his  lungs. 

A  shout  rang  strongly  and  hopefully  through  the 
silent  forest.  Rayton  sat  up  weakly,  and  gazed 
around  him.  The  light  was  dim,  and  he  saw 


180  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

nothing  but  the  soaring  trees  and  crowding  under- 
brush. He  tried  to  shout  —  but  his  voice  was  no 
more  than  a  whisper.  He  tried  again,  with  des- 
perate effort,  and  groaned  with  the  hot  agony  that 
stabbed  his  lungs.  He  put  more  dry  fuel  on  the 
fire,  for  here  was  a  signal  more  sure  to  guide  help 
to  him  that  any  outcry.  Not  content  with  this, 
however,  he  crawled  to  his  gun,  inserted  a  loaded 
cartridge,  and  discharged  it  into  the  ground;  then 
crawled  close  to  the  fire  again,  lay  prone,  and  made 
no  struggle  against  waves  of  flashing  color  and 
gigantic  sound  that  flowed  over  him,  trampling 
him  down,  down  fathoms  deep. 

When  Ray  ton  returned  to  the  surface  of  that 
mighty  tide,  he  discovered  his  head  to  be  sup- 
ported by  a  human  shoulder  and  arm.  A  flask, 
gripped  by  a  big,  familiar  hand,  was  against  his 
lips.  On  the  other  side  of  the  fire  stood  Dick 
Goodine,  gazing  across  at  him  with  haggard  eyes. 
Among  the  trees,  the  daylight  was  stronger,  and 
held  a  hint  of  sunshine.  He  sighed,  and  parted  his 
lips,  and  the  potent  liquor  from  the  tilting  flask 
trickled  down  his  throat  and  glowed  within  him. 

1  Thanks,  you  chaps,"  he  muttered.  "  I'm 
mighty  glad  you  found  me." 

"  Drink    some    more,"     said    Banks     tenderly. 


Rayton  is  Reminded  of  the  Crosses  181 

"  You  feel  like  a  block  of  ice.  Swig  away,  there's 
a  good  fellow.  Better  be  drunk  than  dead !  " 

Rayton  took  another  big  swallow  of  the  stinging 
brandy.  Then,  reviving  swiftly,  he  pushed  the 
flask  away. 

"  That's  better,"  he  said.  "  But  I'm  afraid  I've 
caught  a  whacker  of  a  cold.  Let  my  fire  go  out, 
you  know.  Got  shot  —  and  built  a  fire  —  and 
went  to  sleep.  Very  foolish.  How'd  you  happen 
to  find  me  so  soon?  Good  thing.  My  side  feels 
like  the  devil!" 

"  You  just  keep  quiet  for  a  while  longer,"  said 
Banks.  "  We're  going  to  roll  you  up  in  this 
blanket,  now,  and  feed  you  with  hot  beef  tea." 

Dick  Goodine,  who  had  not  moved  or  spoken 
before,  now  passed  around  the  fire,  stooped,  and 
took  the  Englishman's  right  hand  in  both  of  his. 

"  I'm  almighty  glad  you  —  you  are  awake, 
Reginald,"  he  said  huskily. 

Then  he  straightened  himself  quickly,  and 
turned  away. 

They  rolled  Rayton  in  two  blankets,  and  placed 
him  on  a  deep  couch  of  moss,  close  to  the  fire. 
They  bared  his  feet,  and  rubbed  them  to  a  glow. 
They  filled  him  to  the  neck  with  scalding  beef 
tea,  strongly  laced  with  brandy.  They  built  up  the 


182  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

fire,  until  it  roared  like  a  burning  hay  barn.  Banks 
cut  away  the  left  sleeve  of  the  blanket  jumper,  re- 
moved some  of  the  dry  blood,  and  examined  the 
wound. 

"  Clean  as  a  whistle !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  In  here 
and  out  there.  That  is  nothing  to  worry  about, 
I  guess  —  now  that  it  has  stopped  bleeding." 

Goodine  examined  the  shoulder  in  silence,  and 
looked  tremendously  relieved  to  see  so  clean  a 
wound.  Banks  loosened  the  pinch  of  the  elastic 
suspenders  over  and  under  the  shoulder.  Then  he 
put  on  fresh  bandages. 

"How  is  the  side  feeling  now?"  he  asked. 

The  Englishman  smiled  and  nodded,  mumbled 
some  ghosts  of  words,  and  then,  under  the  spell  of 
the  beef  tea  and  brandy  inside  him,  and  the  heat 
of  the  fire  on  his  body,  sank  again  to  sleep.  For 
a  few  minutes  his  two  friends  sat  and  watched 
him  in  silence.  Dick  Goodine  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"D'ye  think  he'll  pull  'round  all  right?"  he 
whispered. 

"Of  course  he'll  pull  'round,"  replied  the  New 
Yorker.  "  He  is  as  strong  as  a  horse,  and  the 
bullet  wound  is  not  serious.  His  blood  is  clean, 
thank  Heaven!  —  as  clean  as  his  heart.  He  has 


Rayton  is  Reminded  of  the  Crosses  183 

got  cold  right  into  his  bones;  but  if  the  heat  will 
drive  out  cold,  I  guess  we'll  thaw  him,  Dick.  Now 
is  the  time  to  try,  anyway,  before  it  gets  set. 
We'll  keep  the  fire  roaring.  And  in  half  an  hour 
we'll  wad  more  hot  drinks  into  him.  We'll  drive 
that  pain  out  of  his  side,  or  bust!  " 

The  trapper  nodded,  his  dark  eyes  fixed  upon 
Rayton's  quiet  face  with  a  haunted  and  mournful 
regard. 

"  We'll  take  him  home  before  night,"  continued 
Mr.  Banks ;  "  and  then  we'll  go  gunning  for  the 
skunk  who  tried  to  murder  him !  " 

"  You  bet  we  will !  "  replied  Goodine  huskily. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

CAPTAIN    WIGMORE    SUGGESTS    AN    AMAZING    THING 

RAYTON'S  chest  and  side  felt  much  better  when 
he  awoke  from  his  second  deep  sleep  by  the  fire. 
It  was  noon;  and  though  the  air  was  frosty,  the 
sun  was  shining.  Mr.  Banks  administered  more 
beef  tea  to  him,  piping  hot. 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  find  me  so  soon  ?  " 
asked  the  Englishman. 

"Thank  Dick  for  that,"  said  Banks.  "He 
dragged  me  out  of  bed  before  dawn.  He  heard 
the  shooting  last  night;  but  didn't  think  much 
about  it  then.  But  when  he  learned  that  you  had 
been  out  all  day  he  began  to  worry." 

Dick  Goodine  nodded. 

"  That's  right,"  he  said.  "  The  more  I  thought 
over  them  two  shots,  an'  the  yellin'  I  heard,  the 
queerer  it  all  seemed  to  me." 

"  Did  you  see  any  one,  Reginald?  "  asked  Banks. 
"  Do  you  know  who  plugged  you  —  or  can  you 
make  a  guess  ?  " 

184 


An  Amazing  Thing  185 

Rayton  shook  his  head.  "  I  didn't  see  anything," 
he  replied  —  "  not  even  the  flash  of  the  rifle.  No, 
I  can't  guess.  It  was  all  so  sudden !  —  and  I  was 
so  dashed  angry  and  surprised,  you  know!  I  let 
fly  with  both  barrels  —  and  then  I  fell  down. 
Blood  was  just  spurting,  you  know.  I  felt  very 
weak  —  and  mad  enough  to  chew  somebody." 

"  So  you  fired  the  second  shot,  did  you?  "  que- 
ried Banks. 

"  Yes.  I  only  hope  I  peppered  the  dirty  cad. 
Of  course,  it  may  not  have  been  intentional.  I 
haven't  thought  it  out  yet.  Whoever  fired  the  shot 
may  have  mistaken  me  for  a  moose  or  deer.  But 
it  is  pretty  hard  lines,  I  think,  if  a  chap  can't  walk 
through  the  woods  without  being  sniped  at  by 
some  fool  with  a  rifle." 

"  That's  what  set  me  wonderin'  —  that  second 
shot,"  said  the  trapper.  "  I  was  a  durned  id  jit, 
though!  I  might  er  known  there  wasn't  any 
strangers  shootin'  'round  this  country  now  —  any 
of  the  kind  that  hollers  like  all  git-out  every  time 
they  hit  something  —  or  think  they  do.  But  I  was 
a  good  ways  off,  an'  late,  so  I  just  kept  hikin' 
along  for  home." 

"  That's  all  right,  old  boy,"  said  Rayton.  "  No 
harm  done,  I  think.  But  are  you  sure  there  are 


186  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

no  strangers  in  the  woods  now?  Who  do  you 
think  shot  me,  then?" 

"  Certainly  not  a  stranger !  "  exclaimed  the  New 
Yorker.  "  You  may  bet  on  that,  Reginald.  The 
murderous,  sneaking,  white-livered  skunk  who  shot 
you  is  the  same  animal  who  set  fire  to  young 
Marsh's  camp  —  the  same  vicious  fool  who  is  at 
the  bottom  of  all  this  marked-card  business." 

"  Great  heavens !  "  exclaimed  the  Englishman. 
"  Do  you  really  believe  that  ?  Then  the  card  trick 
is  getting  pretty  serious.  What  do  you  think 
about  it,  Dick?" 

"  It  beats  me !  "  said  Dick,  in  a  flat  voice.  "  I 
don't  know  —  an'  I  can't  guess.  It's  a  mighty 
nasty-lookin'  business,  that's  all  I  can  say.  Looks 
to  me  like  a  job  for  the  police." 

"Not  yet!"  cried  Rayton.  "I  can  look  after 
myself.  Promise  me  to  keep  quiet  about  it,  will 
you?  That  will  give  us  a  chance  to  look  'round 
a  bit  for  ourselves.  We  don't  want  to  start  the 
whole  country  fussing  about." 

"But  what  about  Nash?"  asked  Mr.  Banks. 
"  He  is  bound  to  know.  You'll  have  to  tell  him 
how  you  came  by  the  puncture  in  your  shoulder." 

'  That  is  all  right.  It  is  only  a  flesh  wound, 
and  clean  as  a  whistle.  I  don't  need  Nash." 


An  Amazing  Thing  187 

"  We'll  not  argue  about  that,  Reginald,"  re- 
turned Banks.  "  Here,  drink  this  brandy,  and 
then  we'll  start  for  home  with  you.  I  am  bossing 
this  show." 

Two  hours  and  twenty  minutes  later  they  had 
Ray  ton  comfortably  tucked  away  between  the 
warm  sheets  of  his  own  bed.  His  two  stalwart 
friends  had  carried  him  every  yard  of  the  way, 
in  a  blanket,  and  he  had  not  suffered  from  the 
journey.  Banks  unbandaged  his  shoulder,  and 
examined  the  wound.  He  washed  it  in  warm 
water,  and  moved  the  arm  gently.  The  blood* 
began  to  flow  freely.  He  bound  the  shoulder 
tightly,  and  nodded  to  the  trapper. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  Rayton,  as  Dick 
opened  the  door. 

"  For  Doctor  Nash,"  answered  Dick,  and  the 
door  slammed  behind  him. 

Dick  saddled  one  of  the  horses,  and  rode  off  at 
a  gallop.  He  was  lucky  to  find  the  doctor  at  home 
in  the  farm-house  where  he  boarded.  He  delivered 
his  message  briefly,  but  clearly.  Nash  rubbed  his 
hands  together,  and  informed  the  trapper  that 
there  was  another  doctor  at  Bird  Portage,  twenty 
miles  away.  When  asked  to  explain  this  remark, 
he  blustered  and  swore,  and  at  last  said  frankly 


188  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

that  Rayton  could  bleed  to  death  for  all  he 
cared. 

"  If  you  don't  come  peaceful  an'  quiet,"  said 
Goodine  slowly,  "  then  —  by  hell !  —  you'll  come 
the  other  way !  " 

Their  eyes  met,  and  flared  for  a  second  or  two. 
Then  Nash  wavered. 

"  I'll  come,"  he  said. 

"  I'll  wait  for  you,"  said  the  trapper.  "  Git  a 
move  on." 

When  they  reached  Ray  ton's  house  they  found 
old  Captain  Wigmore  in  the  sitting  room,  smoking 
a  cigar  and  smiling  sardonically.  Nash  went  up- 
stairs, but  Wigmore  beckoned  the  trapper  to  him. 

"  I've  wormed  it  out  of  them,"  he  said.  "  I 
know  all  about  it;  and  that  means  that  I  know  a 
good  deal  more  about  it  than  you  do." 

"  What  ?  More  about  what  ?  "  asked  Goodine 
anxiously. 

"  Just  this,  my  good  trapper  of  foolish  beasts ! 
Nash  is  the  man  who  put  the  hole  through  the 
Englishman's  shoulder ! " 

Dick  stared.  At  last  he  regained  the  use  of  his 
tongue. 

"  You're  cracked !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Nash  didn't 
do  it!" 


An  Amazing  Thing  189 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?" 

"  Well,  I  guess  I  know  that  much,  anyhow." 

"Then  who  did  it?" 

"  Don't  know." 

"  But  I  do.  You  keep  your  eye  on  Nash  when 
I  tackle  him.  Then  you'll  know." 

Dick  shook  his  head. 

"  I  guess  not,"  he  murmured,  and  went  upstairs, 
leaving  the  captain  alone  with  his  thin  smile  and 
long  cigar. 

"  I  do  believe  that  old  crow  has  a  slat  loose," 
reflected  the  trapper.  "  I'd  give  a  good  lot  to  know 
what  he's  truly  thinking  about,  anyhow." 

Doctor  Nash,  after  brief  greetings,  set  to  work 
on  Rayton's  wounded  shoulder.  He  made  a  close 
examination,  but  asked  no  questions.  He  worked 
swiftly  for  about  half  an  hour. 

"  That's  done,"  he  said.  "  All  you  have  to  do 
now  is  to  keep  still  for  a  while."  He  paused  and 
turned  to  Banks.  "Has  he  been  insulting  and 
assaulting  somebody  else  lately?"  he  asked. 

"  Don't  know,"  returned  the  New  Yorker. 
"Why?" 

"  Just  an  idea  of  mine,"  replied  Nash.  "  Some 
men  are  not  as  good-natured  as  I  am,  you  know. 
Somebody  took  a  shot  at  him  —  and  I  was  just 


190  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

wondering  why.  It  does  not  often  happen  'round 
here." 

"  You  are  the  only  person  I  have  behaved  like 
that  to,"  said  Rayton,  "  and  —  and  —  well,  I  am 
dashed  sorry  I  lost  my  temper.  I  beg  your  pardon, 
Nash.  I  am  very  sorry,  honestly.  I  behaved  like 
a  cad." 

"  You  should  have  thought  of  that  before," 
sneered  Nash. 

At  that  moment  old  Captain  Wigmore  entered 
the  room  on  the  tips  of  his  neat  little  toes,  smiling 
behind  his  whiskers. 

"  I  see  you've  brought  your  company  manners 
with  you,"  said  Nash.  "  I  thought  you  saved  them 
up  for  the  ladies."  He  had  the  old  fellow  on  his 
black  list. 

"  Is  that  you,  doctor  ? "  returned  the  captain 
pleasantly.  "  So  you  have  been  patching  up  this 
young  man,  I  see.  What  do  you  think  of  your 
work?" 

"Of  my  work?  Oh,  I  guess  my  work  is  good 
enough.  Have  you  anything  to  say  about  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  now  that  you  ask  me.  Five  or  six 
inches  to  the  side  would  have  done  the  job.  Why 
didn't  you  do  it  when  you  were  at  it?" 

Dick   Goodine   guessed   what  was  coming;    but 


An  Amazing  Thing  191 

the  other  three  stared  at  the  old  man  in  frank 
amazement.  Nash  looked  bewildered. 

"Six  inches?"  he  queried.  "Done  the  job? 
What  the  devil  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

[<  There  are  none  so  blind  as  those  who  won't 
see,"  replied  Wigmore,  leering. 

"  What  d'you  mean  ?  What  are  you  grinning 
at?" 

"  Don't  get  excited,  doctor.  Bluster  and  bluff 
don't  frighten  me."  He  stepped  close  to  Rayton. 
"  Who  d'you  think  put  that  hole  through  your 
shoulder,  Reginald?"  he  asked. 

"  Haven't  the  least  idea.  Wish  I  had,"  replied 
the  invalid. 

"  Dear  me !  What  a  dull  young  man  you  are," 
jeered  Wigmore. 

"  Don't  follow  you,"  said  the  Englishman. 

"  Same  here,"  said  Banks. 

Captain  Wigmore  chuckled.  "  I  don't  suppose 
you  have  an  enemy  anywhere  within  five  hundred 
miles  of  here?"  he  queried. 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge,"  said  Rayton. 

l<  Then  why  did  you  and  Nash  fly  at  each  other 
day  before  yesterday,  in  the  middle  of  the  road? 
Why  did  you  knock  your  dear  friend  flat  in  the 
mud?" 


192  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  Oh,  give  us  a  rest!  "  exclaimed  Nash,  flushing 
darkly,  and  scowling  at  the  old  man. 

"  That  was  nothing  more  than  —  than  a  sudden 
explosion  of  bad  temper,"  said  Rayton. 

Wigmore  nodded  his  head  briskly,  and  turned 
to  the  doctor. 

"  And  I  noticed,"  he  said,  "  that  you  did  not 
wait  to  be  knocked  down  a  second  time.  You 
hopped  into  your  rig,  and  drove  away  at  top  speed. 
He  who  fights  and  runs  away  —  ah?" 

"  Really,  captain,  what  is  the  necessity  of  all 
this  ?  "  protested  Mr.  Banks. 

Wigmore  waved  his  hand  toward  the  big  New 
Yorker,  as  if  at  a  fly  that  had  buzzed  in  his  ear. 
His  keen,  glinting  eyes  were  fixed  with  a  terrible, 
rejoicing  intentness  upon  Doctor  Nash. 

"  What  were  you  doing  in  the  woods  yesterday 
afternoon?"  he  asked. 

"  Confound  you !  "  cried  Nash  furiously.  "  What 
are  you  talking  about?  What  do  you  mean  to 
imply?  You  skinny  little  runt,  you  must  be  mad!  " 

Wigmore  laughed  with  a  sound  like  the  clatter- 
ing together  of  dry  bones.  Mr.  Banks  gripped 
him  roughly  by  a  thin,  hard  arm. 

"  Enough  of  this ! "  cried  the  big  sportsman. 
"  Either  speak  out  like  a  man,  or  shut  up !  " 


An  Amazing  Thing  193 

"  Very  good,"  returned  the  captain,  with  another 
mirthless  laugh.  "  All  I  want  to  know  is  what 
Doctor  Nash  was  doing  in  the  woods  to  the  west 
of  here  yesterday  afternoon,  with  a  rifle.  What 
game  were  you  after,  doctor?  I  have  always  heard 
that  you  were  not  very  keen  on  that  kind  of 
sport." 

"  I  wasn't  in  the  woods !  "  cried  Nash.  "  You 
are  a  liar !  " 

"  Don't  call  me  a  liar,  please,"  protested  the  old 
man.  "  It  is  Benjamin  Samson  who  is  the  liar, 
in  this  case.  He  told  me  that  you  borrowed  his 
rifle  yesterday,  just  before  noon,  and  struck  into 
the  woods." 

Nash  gasped,  and  his  face  faded  to  the  sickly 
tint  of  a  tallow  candle.  He  stared  wildly  at  Wig- 
more,  then  wildly  around  at  the  others.  He 
opened  and  closed  his  mouth  several  times  noise- 
lessly, like  a  big  fish  newly  landed  on  the  bank. 
But  at  last  his  voice  returned  to  him  suddenly  and 
shrilly. 

"  I  forgot !  "  he  cried.  "  I  was  out  yesterday  — 
with  Samson's  rifle  —  after  all.  But  what  about 
it?  Why  shouldn't  I  go  shooting  if  I  want  to? 
This  is  a  free  country!  But  I  know  what  you  are 
—  trying  to  make  Rayton  think  —  you  dirty  little 


194  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

gray  badger!  You  are  hinting  that  I  shot  him! 
I'll  have  the  law  on  you  for  this>  you  —  you " 

"  I'll  not  wait  to  hear  the  rest  of  it,  though  it 
is  sure  to  be  apt  and  picturesque,"  said  the  captain, 
flashing  his  dazzling  "  store  "  teeth.  "  Good-by, 
Reginald,  Good-by,  all.  See  you  to-morrow." 

He  bowed,  skipped  from  the  room,  and  hurried 
downstairs,  and  out  of  the  house.  Doctor  Nash 
sprang  after  him  to  the  top  of  the  stairs,  trembling 
and  stuttering  with  rage;  but  he  did  not  go  any 
farther.  He  turned,  after  a  moment  or  two,  and 
re-entered  the  room.  He  strode  up  to  the  bed. 

"Do  you  believe  that?"  he  cried.  "Do  you 
believe  that  I  shot  you,  Reginald  Rayton?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Rayton  promptly. 
'  You  wouldn't  be  such  a  fool  as  to  borrow  a  rifle 
to  do  it  with,  even  if  you  wanted  to  kill  me." 

Nash  turned  upon  Banks  and  Dick  Goodine. 

"  And  you  two  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Do  you  think  that 
I  tried  to  murder  Rayton?  That  I  fired  that 
shot?" 

Dick  Goodine,  who  stood  by  the  window,  with 
his  face  averted,  answered  with  a  silent  shake  of 
the  head.  Mr.  Banks  did  not  let  the  question  pass 
so  lightly,  however.  For  several  seconds  he  gazed 
steadily,  keenly,  inquiringly  into  Nash's  angry 


An  Amazing  Thing  195 

eyes.  He  was  very  cool  and  ponderous.  The 
scene  suggested  to  Reginald  Ray  ton  the  judgment 
of  a  mortal  by  a  just  but  inexorable  god.  Only 
his  ever-ready  sense  of  politeness  kept  him  from 
smiling  broadly.  Nash  glared,  and  began  to  mut- 
ter uneasily.  •  At  last  the  big  New  Yorker 
spoke. 

"  Circumstances  are  against  you,  Nash,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  Nobody  can  deny  that.  There  is  bad 
blood  between  you  and  Reginald.  Reginald  loses 
his  temper,  and  gives  you  a  trimming.  On  the 
following  day  you  borrow  a  rifle,  and  go  into  the 
woods,  and  that  evening  the  man  who  punched  you 
in  the  jaw  is  shot  through  the  shoulder.  It  looks 
bad,  Nash  —  mighty  bad !  But  —  keep  quiet !  — 
but,  in  spite  of  appearances,  I  don't  think  you  are 
the  guilty  person." 

"  Then  why  the  devil  didn't  you  say  so  before?  " 
cried  the  doctor,  trembling. 

"  Calm  yourself,"  replied  Mr.  Banks,  "  and  I'll 
try  to  explain  to  you  my  reasons  for  naming  you 
guiltless.  In  the  first  place,  I  believe  you  to  be 
a  touch  above  shooting  a  man  in  the  dark.  What- 
ever you  may  be  in  yourself,  your  profession  would 
make  you  better  than  that.  In  the  second  place, 
I  don't  think  that  you  have  any  hand  in  the  game 


196  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

of  the  marked  cards  —  and  I  am  quite  sure  that 
the  person  who  marks  those  cards  knows  who  put 
the  hole  through  Reginald's  shoulder." 

Nash  looked  startled. 

"  I  forgot  about  that !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Rayton 
told  me  that  the  card  was  dealt  to  him  —  and  then 
the  —  the  subsequent  argument  we  had  kind  of  put 
it  out  of  my  head." 

Banks  smiled.  "  Quite  so.  I  don't  wonder  at 
it,"  he  said.  "  But  tell  me,  do  you  still  believe 
Jim  Harley  to  be  at  the-  bottom  of  the  card 
trick?" 

Nash  shot  a  glance  at  the  bandaged  man  in  the 
bed.  "I  do,"  he  replied.  "I  stick  to  that  until 
some  one  proves  it  untrue,  though  every  man  in 
this  room  gives  me  a  punch  in  the  jaw.  It 
is  a  free  country,  and  I  have  a  right  to  my  opin- 
ion." 

"Of  course  you  have,"  agreed  the  New  Yorker; 
"  but  I'll  show  you  the  real  trickster  within  two 
days  from  now.  In  the  meantime,  I  shall  keep 
my  suspicions  and  plans  to  myself." 

Early  that  evening  the  snow  began  to  fall,  and 
by  breakfast  the  next  morning  it  lay  a  foot  deep 
over  the  frozen  wilderness.  Mr.  Banks  prepared 
his  own  breakfast  and  Rayton's,  and  they  ate  to- 


An  Amazing  Thing  197 

gether  in  Rayton's  room.  Banks  was  washing  the 
dishes  in  the  kitchen  when  Dick  Goodine  opened 
the  door,  and  stepped  inside. 

"I'm  off,"  said  the  trapper.  "If  I  don't  get 
busy  pretty  quick,  I  won't  have  one  fox  skin  to 
show,  come  spring." 

He  went  upstairs,  treading  noiselessly  as  a  bob- 
cat, in  his  snowy  moccasins,  shook  hands  with 
Rayton,  asked  considerately  about  the  shoulder,  and 
then  went  out  into  the  white  world. 

"I  like  that  man,"  said  Banks.  "He's  true 
blue." 

"  Right  you  are,"  replied  the  Englishman. 

The  last  pan  was  cleaned  and  put  away,  when 
Banks  was  aroused  from  deep  thought  by  a  faint 
knocking  on  the  front  door.  He  pulled  down  the 
sleeves  of  his  shirt,  wriggled  into  his  coat,  made  a 
hurried  pass  at  the  thin  hair  on  top  of  his  head, 
with  a  crumb  brush,  then  took  his  way  decorously 
along  the  hall,  wondering  who  the  formal  caller 
might  be.  He  opened  the  door,  and  found  Nell 
Harley  in  the  little  porch.  Her  clear  face  was 
flushed  vividly,  and  her  clear  eyes  were  wide  with 
anxiety. 

Mr.  Banks  mastered  his  astonishment  before  it 
reached  his  eyes. 


198  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  Come  in !  Come  in !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  This 
is  delightful  of  you,  Miss  Harley." 

He  seized  one  of  her  gloved  hands,  drew  her 
into  the  narrow  hall,  and  closed  the  door. 

"  Jim  started  for  one  of  his  camps  —  early  this 
morning  —  before  we  heard,"  she  said.  "  So  I 
have  come  to  —  to  see  Mr.  Ray  ton.  Is  —  he  very 
-ill?" 

"111!"  repeated  Mr.  Banks  cheerfully.  "My 
dear  young  lady,  he  is  fit  as  a  fiddle.  We  broke 
up  his  cold  yesterday,  you  know,  and  the  scratch 
on  his  shoulder  is  nothing.  Please  come  in  here. 
I'll  just  touch  a  match  to  the  fire." 

"Where  is  Mr.  Rayton?"  she  asked,  as  he 
stooped  to  light  the  fire  in  the  sitting-room  stove. 

"  Oh,  he's  at  home.     I'll  tell  him  you  are  here." 

"  I'm  sure  he  is  in  bed." 

"Well,  so  he  is.  It  is  the  safest  place  to  keep 
him,  you  know,  for  he  is  always  getting  into 
trouble." 

"I  —  I  want  to  see  him  —  to  speak  to  him," 
she  whispered. 

'Then  wait  a  minute,  please.  I'll  run  upstairs 
and  try  to  make  him  look  pretty,"  said  Mr.  Banks. 

When  Miss  Harley  entered  Rayton's  bedroom, 
she  found  the  invalid  sitting  up  against  a  stack 


An  Amazing  Thing  199 

of  pillows,  smiling  cheerfully,  slightly  flushed,  his 
shoulders  draped  with  a  scarlet  blanket.  He  ex- 
tended his  hand.  She  drew  off  her  gloves,  and 
took  it  firmly.  Neither  spoke  for  fully  half  a 
minute.  Mr.  Banks  left  the  room,  light  on  his  feet 
as  a  prowling  cat. 

"  It  is  the  curse,"  she  said,  at  last,  unsteadily. 
"  When  you  are  strong  again  you  —  you  must  go 
away." 

"Am  I  really  in  danger?  "  he  asked  very  softly. 
"  Under  the  old  conditions  of  the  curse,  you 
know?" 

Her  eyes  wavered. 

"Your  life  has  been  attempted,"  she  whispered. 

"  I  mean  to  stay,"  he  replied,  somewhat  breath- 
lessly, "  until  that  curse  has  done  its  worst  on  me 
—  or  until  you  love  me !  " 


CHAPTER  XIV 

FEAR  FORGOTTEN AND  RECALLED 

THE  color  slipped  away,  then  flooded  back  to 
Nell  Harley's  cheeks  and  brow.  Her  fine  eyes 
brightened,  then  dimmed  sweetly.  She  withdrew 
her  hand  from  his,  and  turned  away. 

"  Until  you  love  me,"  repeated  Rayton,  in  a  dry 
voice  that  strove  to  be  both  commonplace  and  cour- 
ageous. "  If  —  if  that  is  not  to  be,"  he  continued, 
"  then  I  will  go  away." 

She  whispered  something;  but  because  of  her 
averted  face  he  did  not  catch  the  words. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon?  "  he  queried  fearfully.  "  I 
did  not  hear." 

Now  she  stood  with  her  back  to  him;  but  not 
far  from  his  one  capable  hand  hanging  empty  and 
hungry  over  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"  Can't  you  —  pretend  ?  "  she  asked  very  faintly. 

"Pretend?"  he  repeated,  in  wonder;  for,  after 
all,  he  was  rather  a  simple  soul  in  some  things. 
"  Pretend  ?  I  am  not  pretending.  I  don't  think 

200 


IT   IS   BECAUSE  —  BECAUSE   I   CARE   SO   FOR   YOU  —  ' 


Fear  Forgotten  —  and  Recalled       201 

I  am  much  of  a  hand  at  pretending.  What  —  do 
you  mean?  " 

"If  —  you  —  care  for  me  —  please  pretend  that 
you  do  not  like  me  at  all.  Keep  away  from  our 
place  —  you  know,  and  —  and  when  wre  meet  by 
accident  —  don't  —  don't  look  at  me  as  —  you  do." 

Rayton  did  not  answer  immediately. 

"  I  couldn't  do  that,"  he  said,  after  a  brief  but 
electrical  silence.  "Of  course  I  could  —  but  it 
would  be  harder  for  me  than  —  than  being  shot 
every  day  of  my  life.  I  am  rather  a  fool  at  pre- 
tending, I'm  afraid.  But  if  you  say  so,  if  you 
say  I  —  I  have  no  chance,  then  I'll  clear  out  —  at 
the  double  —  without  a  kick !  " 

"  It  is  because  —  because  I  care  so  for  you  — 
that  I  ask  you  to  do  these  things,"  she  whispered. 

The  Englishman  gasped,  then  trembled.  He 
gazed  at  the  young  woman's  straight,  fur-clad  back 
with  an  untranslatable  illumination  in  his  wide  eyes. 
His  lips  moved,  but  uttered  no  sound.  Then  a 
brief,  wondering  smile  beautified  his  thin  face.  He 
moved  his  shoulders  on  the  pillow  furtively.  He 
leaned  sideways,  and  stretched  forth  his  hand.  The 
strong,  brown  fingers  touched  a  fold  of  the  long 
fur  coat,  and  closed  upon  it  tenderly,  but  firmly. 
She  neither  turned  nor  moved. 


202  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  That  curse  is  only  a  bad  dream,"  he  said,  his 
voice  gruff  with  the  effort  of  speaking  in  a  tone 
below  a  joyous  shout.  "  There  is  no  curse !  Some 
misguided  person  is  trying  to  make  fools  of  us 
all.  His  game  will  be  spoiled  in  a  day  or  two. 
Why  should  we  fear  him  ?  —  whoever  he  is !  I 
do  not  want  to  go  away  from  you  —  even  for  a 
minute!  I  cannot  hide  my  love  for  you.  You 
would  think  me  a  poor  sort  of  man  if  I  could.  I 
love  you !  I  love  you !  I  love  you  !  Dearest  — 
say  that  again !  " 

He  pulled  gently,  half  fearfully,  on  the  fur  coat. 
Nell  turned  slowly,  and  faced  him.  Her  lips  trem- 
bled, and  her  white  throat  fluttered.  Two  bright 
tears  glinted  on  her  cheeks,  all  unheeded  —  by  her. 
He  took  note  of  them,  however,  and  was  enrap- 
tured with  their  beauty,  as  no  fire  and  gleam  of 
diamonds  could  have  enraptured  him.  She  smiled 
slowly,  with  parted,  tremulous  lips  and  shining 
eyes.  She  smiled  at  his  illuminated,  awe-stricken, 
yearning  face.  She  looked  down  at  the  hand  clasp- 
ing the  skirt  of  her  coat  so  desperately. 

"Do  you  care  —  so  much?"   she  asked. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  said  gravely. 

"  I  wonder  why  you  love  me !  I  am  not  —  beau- 
tiful." 


Fear  Forgotten  —  and  Recalled       203 

He  pulled  again,  with  a  spasmodic  jerk,  on  the 
fur  coat. 

"Beautiful!"  he  cried.  "You?  You  are  the 
most  beautiful  thing  God  ever  made!" 

"  Reginald !  "  she  protested,  in  a  whisper,  gazing 
down  at  his  hand  so  as  to  hide  her  face  from  him. 

He  was  full  of  courage  now.  Even  love  could 
not  frighten  him.  Daring  blazed  in  him. 

"  Kiss  me  —  quick !  "  he  whispered.  "  I  hear 
Banks  on  the  stairs !  Quick !  "  He  pulled  at  the 
coat,  with  fearless  determination.  For  a  fraction 
of  a  second  she  resisted;  and  then,  sudden,  impetu- 
ous, whole-hearted,  she  stepped  forward,  sank  to 
her  knees  beside  the  bed,  pressed  her  young  breast 
to  his  unwounded  shoulder,  and  her  lips  to  his.  He 
felt  the  moisture  of  her  tears.  The  ascending 
Banks  was  forgotten. 

"Hem!  Ah —  I  beg  your  pardon!"  exclaimed 
the  New  Yorker. 

The  girl  was  on  her  feet,  and  two  yards  away 
from  the  bed  in  a  flash.  Her  cheeks  and  brow 
were  crimson;  but  she  faced  the  big  sportsman 
with  something  of  defiance  in  her  attitude.  Reg- 
inald Rayton  neither  moved  nor  spoke.  He  lay 
with  his  eyes  closed,  breathing  quickly.  Mr.  Banks 
looked  the  most  guilty  of  the  three.  He  shuffled 


204  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

his  feet.  His  glance  fell  before  the  glory  and 
daring  of  the  girl's  face.  He  saw  that  it  was 
beautiful,  now  absolutely  beautiful,  and  he  knew 
love  to  be  the  beautifier.  He  was  abashed.  For 
a  few  seconds  he  was  utterly  bereft  of  his  usual 
aplomb.  Had  he  been  the  inspiration  of  that  light 
on  her  face  and  in  her  eyes,  it  is  probable  that 
he  would  have  known  exactly  what  to  do.  At  last 
he  advanced,  bowed  ponderously,  and  lifted  one  of 
her  hands  to  his  lips.  Then  he  stepped  over  to 
the  bed. 

"  Reginald,  you  have  all  the  luck,"  he  said.  "  I 
congratulate  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
I'd  take  on  the  risks  myself  for  —  well,  for  one- 
tenth  part  of  the  reward." 

Nell  came  back  to  earth  —  to  the  lower  levels 
where  lives  are  lived  out,  and  fear  stalks  through 
sun  and  shadow. 

'  The  risks !  I  had  forgotten  them,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

Mr.  Banks  completed  his  recovery  at  that.  He 
turned  to  her,  smiling,  his  capable,  bland  self 
again. 

"  If  you  are  thinking  of  the  card  trick,"  he  said, 
"I  beg  you  to  put  it  out  of  your  mind  forever. 
There  is  a  fool  working  that  card  trick  —  and  that 


Fear  Forgotten  —  and  Recalled       205 

is  all  it  has  to  do  with  a  curse.  A  fool  is  always 
a  curse.  So  don't  worry!  Reginald  is  as  safe 
as  I  am,  for  I'll  have  the  mask  off  that  fool,  and 
the  claws  out  of  him  before  he  can  try  any  more 
of  his  mad  games.  All  you  have  to  do,  my  dear, 
is  trust  Harvey  P.  Banks  —  and  love  this  calf, 
Reginald,  I  suppose." 

'  You  are  very,  very  kind,"  she  answered  gently, 
"  and  I  hope  and  pray  that  you  are  right.  I  must 
go  home  now,  or  Kate  will  be  anxious.  Good-by, 
Mr.  Banks.  Good-by,  Reginald." 

When  the  New  Yorker  returned  from  letting 
Miss  Harley  out  of  the  house,  he  sat  down  in  a 
chair  beside  his  friend's  bed,  lit  a  cigar,  tilted  his 
head  far  back,  and  smiled  at  the  ceiling.  For 
several  minutes  neither  of  the  men  spoke.  Then 
Rayton  said,  in  a  nervous  voice :  "  You  don't  think 
she'll  catch  cold  going  home,  do  you  ?  " 

"  No,  my  soft  and  addled  lover,"  replied  Mr. 
Banks.  "  She  is  not  at  all  likely  to  catch  cold. 
She  is  wearing  a  long  coat  of  mink  skins,  with 
other  things  inside  it,  no  doubt.  Her  boots  are 
thick;  her  gloves  are  lined  with  fur;  her  hat  — 
ah,  I  am  not  sure  of  her  hat.  There  is  danger,  of 
course,  that  the  sky  may  fall  down  on  her,  or  that 
a  rail  may  fly  off  a  fence  and  hit  her  on  the  head. 


206  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

But  the  chances  are  that  she'll  win  home  safely, 
and  live  until  to-morrow." 

"  Those  are  not  things  to  joke  about,"  said  Ray- 
ton  reprovingly. 

The  other  laughed  long  and  hard.  Then: 
"  Right  you  are,"  he  said.  "  Seriously,  Reginald, 
I  am  sore  with  envy  of  you.  I  have  lived  a  long 
time,  in  many  cities  of  the  world,  and  have  known 
many  women  —  but  I  give  first  prize  to  this  girl 
of  yours.  I  have  loved  many;  but  here,  again, 
Nell  Harley  takes  first  honors." 

"  What  ?  D'ye  mean  that  you  love  her,  too, 
H.  P.  ?  "  asked  the  Englishman  anxiously. 

"  Sure  thing,"  replied  the  New  Yorker.  "  What 
d'you  think  I  am  made  of,  anyway?  D'you  think 
I  am  blind,  deaf,  and  heartless?  Of  course,  I  love 
her !  —  but  you  needn't  glare  at  me,  Reginald.  I'm 
not  running.  I  know  when  to  sit  down  and  do 
the  delighted  uncle  act.  That  girl  loves  you;  and, 
if  I  have  learned  anything  in  my  varied  career, 
she'll  keep  on  loving  you  till  the  end  of  the  game. 
You  are  a  lucky  dog,  Reginald,  and  I  give  you  my 
blessing." 

"  Thanks  very  much,  H.  P.,"  returned  Rayton, 
with  emotion.  "  I  am  a  lucky  chap,  and  no  mis- 
take!" 


Fear  Forgotten  —  and  Recalled       207 

In  the  meantime,  Nell  Harley  made  a  swift  and 
glowing  passage  across  the  field.  She  found  Kate 
in  the  sitting  room. 

"  Is  Mr.  Rayton  in  a  serious  condition  ?  "  asked 
Kate.  "  Dear  me,  what  a  splendid  color  you 
have!  You  look  really  beautiful.  What  has  hap- 
pened? " 

Nell  began  to  laugh  excitedly.  She  threw  aside 
her  gloves  and  mink-skin  coat.  She  cut  several  un- 
classified dancing  steps  on  the  rug  in  front  of  the 
fire. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you?"  de- 
manded the  young  matron  anxiously. 

"Nothing,"  said  Nell.  "I  kissed  him  — that 
is  all." 

"  You  kissed  him  ?  Good  gracious !  What 
for?" 

"  He  told  me  to." 

"Told  you  to?" 

"  Yes.  Well,  he  asked  me  to.  He  —  he  said 
he  would  rather  be  shot  through  the  shoulder  every 
day  of  his  life  than  go  away  from  —  me.  He  said 
he  loved  me  —  he  said  it  over  and  over  and  over 
again.  He  says  it  is  nonsense  —  all  about  that 
curse.  So  it  is.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  I 
just " 


208  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  Fell  into  his  arms,"  interrupted  the  young 
matron. 

"  No,  indeed !  That  would  have  hurt  his  shoul- 
der. Anyway,  he  was  in  bed,  and  bandaged.  I 
just  didn't  care  about  anything  or  anybody  in  the 
world  except  him  —  and  then  I  kissed  him.  Then 
Mr.  Banks  came  in  —  and  caught  us !  " 

"Nell!" 

"  And  as  soon  as  he  recovered  himself  he  kissed 
my  hand,  and  congratulated  Reginald,  and  prom- 
ised to  catch  the  man  who  shot  him  before  he  has 
a  chance  to  shoot  him  again." 

"  Nell,  you  talk  like  —  like  a  —  I  don't  know 
what!  You  went  away  almost  frightened  to  death 
about  that  marked  card  and  the  old  family  curse 
—  and  now  you  —  you  are  absolutely  brazen.  I 
never  heard  you  talk  like  this  before.  I  never  saw 
you  act  or  look  like  this  before.  What  will  Jim 
say  when  he  hears  of  it?  " 

"  I  don't  care  what  Jim  says,"  replied  Nell. 
"  He  can  keep  on  believing  in  that  old  curse  if 
he  chooses.  Reginald  is  not  afraid  of  it  —  so 
neither  am  I  —  now.  It  is  wonderful  to  be  loved 
like  that,  Kate!" 

"  Pooh !  Teach  your  grandmother !  "  retorted 
Kate. 


Fear  Forgotten  —  and  Recalled       209 

Nell's  excitement  soon  passed,  and  fear  stole 
back  into  her  heart  —  fear  that  some  new  danger 
threatened  the  man  she  loved.  And  just  as  her 
love  was  greater  now  than  it  had  been  before  that 
first  kiss,  so  was  the  fear  greater  now.  And  her 
belief  in  the  curse  —  the  supernatural  curse  —  of 
the  marked  card,  returned  to  her.  She  remem- 
bered her  father's  adventure  and  tragic  death. 
She  went  up  to  her  own  room,  and  knelt  by  the 
head  of  her  own  bed,  as  she  had  knelt  at  the  head 
of  Reginald  Rayton's.  But  now  she  knelt  to  pray. 

Things  continued  to  happen  at  Rayton's  house 
during  the  remainder  of  the  day.  Doctor  Nash 
called  just  about  noon,  examined  the  wound,  de- 
tected and  treated  a  slight  cold  in  the  chest,  and 
stayed  to  dinner.  He  helped  Banks  get  dinner, 
and  even  made  a  show  of  drying  the  dishes  after- 
ward. He  was  evidently  doing  his  best  to  forget 
his  quarrel  with  the  Englishman.  Old  Wigmore's 
accusation  seemed  to  be  worrying  him  considerably. 
He  referred  to  it  frequently,  and  even  accounted 
for  himself  minutely  during  the  season  of  his 
possession  of  the  borrowed  rifle.  Ray  ton  laughed 
at  him. 

"  I  know  you  didn't  shoot  me,  so  why  explain?  " 
said  the  Englishman. 


210  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  It  is  just  as  well  to  explain  the  thing.  Old 
Wigmore  has  a  poisonous  tongue  and  a  poisonous 
mind,"  returned  the  doctor.  "  I  believe  he  is 
cracked." 

Nash  had  not  been  gone  more  than  an  hour 
when  Captain  Wigmore  himself  appeared. 

"  I  am  lonely,"  said  the  old  man,  "  and  I 
am  getting  rather  sick  of  doing  my  own  cook- 
ing." 

"  Thought  Fletcher  did  the  cooking,"  said  Mr. 
Banks. 

"So  he  did;  but  he  has  gone  away,"  replied 
Wigmore.  "  He  cleared  out  some  time  or  other 
night  before  last  —  the  night  you  were  shot, 
Reginald." 

"  Where  for  —  and  what  for  ?  "  asked  Banks, 
getting  interested. 

"  He  said,  in  a  letter  that  he  was  good  enough 
to  leave  behind  him,  that  he  is  tired  of  me 
and  of  the  backwoods,  and  can  do  better  for  him- 
self in  New  York.  I  suppose  he  has  set  out  for 
New  York.  He  is  a  queer  fish,  you  know,  is  old 
Timothy  Fletcher.  He  has  been  with  me  for 
years,  and  has  always  been  more  trouble  to  me 
than  comfort.  But  he  was  a  handy  man  and  a 
good  cook.  I  am  sorry  he  took  it  into  his  head 


Fear  Forgotten  —  and  Recalled 

to  go  just  now.  It  makes  it  very  awkward  for 
me." 

"  Did  he  take  anything  with  him  ?  "  asked  the 
would-be  detective. 

"  Only  his  own  duds  —  and  a  little  rye  whisky." 

"  Where  was  he  the  afternoon  and  evening  be- 
fore his  departure?" 

"  Where  was  he  ?  Let  me  think.  I  am  sure  I 
can't  say,  Banks.  Why  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  He  seemed  to  me  rather 
an  interesting  old  codger.  His  manners  were  the 
worst  I  ever  saw.  I  wonder  what  struck  him  to 
leave  you  so  suddenly." 

Captain  Wigmore  shrugged  his  neat  shoulders 
and  laughed  harshly. 

"  Perhaps  the  poor  old  chap  thought  he  would 
be  suspected  and  accused  of  potting  our  young 
friend  here,"  he  suggested.  "  He  is  a  prowler,  you 
know.  He  frequently  wanders  'round  in  the 
woods  for  hours  at  a  time,  and  he  usually  carries 
firearms  of  some  kind  or  other." 

Mr.  Banks  leaned  forward  in  his  chair.  "  I 
never  heard  of  Fletcher  as  a  sportsman,"  he  said. 
"  But  even  so,  how  could  he  have  heard  of  Reg- 
inald's accident?  You  say  he  was  gone  by  morn- 
ing—  and  it  was  not  until  morning  that  Goodine 


212  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

and  I  found  Reginald.  So  there  can't  be  anything 
in  that  suggestion  of  yours,  captain." 

"  Very  likely  not,"  replied  Wigmore.  "  I  am  not 
a  detective  and  have  no  ambitions  that  way.  All 
I  know  is  that  Timothy  went  away  in  a  hurry, 
leaving  a  letter  behind  him  in  which  he  addressed 
me  in  very  disrespectful  terms." 

"Is  that  all  you  know,  captain?" 

"  Not  quite,  after  all.  I  had  a  rifle  —  and  it  has 
vanished." 

"  Great  heavens !  You  knew  all  this,  and  yet 
you  accused  Nash  of  having  wounded  Reginald !  " 

"  Well,  why  not  ?  Some  one  must  have  done 
it  —  and  the  circumstances  are  more  against  Nash 
than  Fletcher.  Nash  had  a  score  to  settle  with  Reg- 
inald; but  I  do  not  think  there  was  any  bad  blood 
between  our  friend  and  Timothy." 

"  But  you  say  Timothy  is  queer  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  is  queer.  Always  has  been.  He 
is  mad  as  a  hatter  —  if  you  know  how  mad  that 
is.  I  don't." 

"  What  about  the  marked  card  ?  "  asked  Rayton. 
"  Don't  you  think  it  is  potent  enough  to  pull  a 
trigger  without  the  help  of  either  Nash  or 
Fletcher?" 

The   old  man  laughed.     "  I   am  getting  a  bit 


Fear  Forgotten  —  and  Recalled       213 

weary  of  that  card,"  he  said.  "  Whoever  is  play- 
ing that  trick  is  working  it  to  death.  And  now 
that  I  come  to  think  of  it,  it  strikes  me  that  I  was 
the  last  person  to  receive  those  red  marks.  So 
why  hasn't  the  curse,  or  whatever  it  is,  struck  me?  " 

"  You  were  the  last,"  replied  Rayton,  "  but  it 
was  dealt  to  me  that  same  evening." 

"Bless  my  soul!  D'yoti  mean  to  say  so?"  ex- 
claimed Wigmore.  "  That  is  interesting.  It  looks 
as  if  there  is  something  in  Jim's  story,  after  all. 
Let  me  see!  The  marks  were  handed  to  Jim's 
father  several  times,  weren't  they?  And  he  came 
to  a  sudden  and  violent  death,  didn't  he?  Of  course 
it  must  be  all  chance,  combined  by  somebody's  idea 
of  a  joke  —  but  it  looks  very  strange  to  me.  I 
don't  like  it.  But  why  do  you  get  the  marks, 
Reginald?  Are  you  sweet  on  Miss  Harley?" 

Rayton  laughed  —  and  his  laughter  was  his  only 
answer. 

Banks  and  the  captain  played  chess,  and  said 
nothing  more  about  the  marked  cards  or  Timothy 
Fletcher.  Captain  Wigmore  won  all  the  games 
easily.  Then  he  went  home.  Banks  put  the  chess- 
men away,  fixed  the  fires  downstairs,  and  then  re- 
turned to  his  seat  by  Rayton's  bed.  He  sat  for 
a  long  time  in  silence,  with  puckered  brows. 


214  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  Queer  thing  about  old  Fletcher,"  said  the 
Englishman. 

"  I  believe  you,  my  son,"  answered  Mr.  Banks. 
"  It  is  so  darned  queer  I  guess  it  calls  for  investi- 
gation. Fletcher  is  an  exceedingly  rude  old  man 
—  and  his  master  is  an  exceedingly  uneven  old 
man." 

"  Yes.  I  don't  understand  either  of  them,"  ad- 
mitted Rayton. 

Banks  raised  his  heels  to  the  edge  of  the  bed, 
leaned  well  back  in  his  chair,  and  lit  a  cigar. 

"  Who  tied  old  Fletcher  to  the  poplar  tree,  d'you 
suppose  ?  "  he  queried. 

"Haven't  the  faintest  idea." 

"  But  I  have,"  said  the  would-be  detective.  "  I'm 
on  a  double  track  now.  I'll  have  something  to 
show  you  coming  and  going." 


CHAPTER   XV 

MR.    BANKS   IS   STUNG 

MR.  BANKS  went  over  to  the  Harley  place  early 
on  the  morning  after  Nell's  visit,  with  a  note  from 
Reginald  Ray  ton.  The  contents  of  the  note  seemed 
to  delight  and  comfort  the  girl.  Banks  saw  violets 
on  the  sitting-room  table.  He  stared  at  them  in 
astonishment.  Mrs.  Jim  Harley  caught  the  look 
and  laughed. 

"  They  belong  to  Nell,"  she  said.  "  Captain 
Wigmore  brought  them  last  night.  I  am  sure  he 
sent  all  the  way  to  Boston  for  them." 

"  Wigmore,  too,"  remarked  Banks  reflectively. 
"  Well,  we  are  all  in  the  same  boat." 

He  remained  for  half  an  hour,  and  then  went 
home  with  a  fat  missive  for  Reginald,  from  Nell, 
in  his  pocket.  The  letter  threw  the  Englishman 
into  a  foolish  glow.  For  a  whole  hour  after  read- 
ing it  he  lay  without  a  word  and  grinned. 

Banks  went  for  a  walk  in  the  afternoon,  and 
215 


216  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

met  Captain  Wigmore.  The  captain  wore  a  new, 
fur-lined  overcoat.  His  whiskers  were  brushed  to 
the  last  hair,  and  his  manner  was  as  dazzlingly 
polished  as  his  false  teeth.  He  walked  jauntily. 
The  two  exchanged  a  few  commonplaces  very 
agreeably.  Then  Banks,  prompted  by  a  sudden  in- 
spiration, went  to  the  house  of  one  Silas  Long 
and  engaged  the  eldest  son  of  the  family,  Billy 
Long,  aged  sixteen,  to  live  at  Rayton's  for  a  month 
and  attend  to  the  wood  and  the  stock.  He  made 
the  arrangements  in  Rayton's  name.  He  told  the 
lad  to  put  in  an  appearance  before  sunset,  and 
then  went  home.  He  explained  this  move  to 
Reginald  by  saying  frankly  that  he  wanted  to  be 
absolutely  free  to  solve  the  mysteries  upon  which 
he  was  engaged.  The  Englishman  had  no  objec- 
tions. 

Mr.  Banks  left  the  house  again  right  after  the 
evening  meal.  It  was  a  clear,  starlit  night.  He 
walked  slowly  toward  Captain  Wigmore's  dwelling, 
and  within  a  few  yards  of  the  gate  came  face  to 
face  with  the  captain. 

"  Hello !  "  exclaimed  Wigmore.  "  Is  that  you, 
Banks?  Are  you  coming  to  see  me?" 

"  No,  I  was  just  strolling  'round  for  a  bit  of 
fresh  air/'  replied  Banks. 


Mr.  Banks  Is  Stung  217 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  of  that.  I  have  an  engage- 
ment for  the  evening." 

"  An  engagement  —  in  Samson's  Mill  Settle- 
ment! You  seem  to  lead  a  gay  life,  captain." 

Wigmore  chuckled.  The  New  Yorker  turned, 
and  the  two  walked  side  by  side  along  the  snowy 
road  for  a  short  distance.  Then  Banks  said :  "  I'll 
leave  you  now,  captain,  and  cut  'home  through 
the  woods.  Hope  you'll  have  a  pleasant  evening." 

"  I  look  forward  to  a  very  entertaining  one," 
replied  the  old  man,  chuckling. 

Banks  left  the  road,  climbed  a  fence,  and  strode 
along  through  dry  snow  that  reached  halfway  to 
his  knees.  He  was  in  a  pasture  dotted  with  clumps 
of  young  spruce. 

"  The  conceited  old  idiot !  "  he  muttered.  "  I  see 
his  game.  I'll  fix  him!" 

He  halted,  behind  a  thicket,  and  stood  motion- 
less for  a  few  minutes,  listening  intently.  Then 
he  made  a  wide  half  circle  to  the  right,  and  soon 
came  out  again  upon  the  beaten  road  but  now 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond  the  captain's 
house.  His  feet  were  cold  and  he  stamped  vigor- 
ously on  the  road  to  warm  them.  The  night  was 
windless,  but  bitter. 

Mr.  Banks  advanced  stealthily  toward  the  dark 


218  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

house.  Not  a  glimmer  of  light  showed  in  any 
window.  He  opened  the  front  gate  cautiously, 
closed  it  cautiously  behind  him,  and  went  furtively 
up  the  narrow  path  between  the  snow-banked  lawns. 
On  the  step  of  the  little  front  porch  he  paused  and 
listened.  Then  he  grasped  the  knob  of  the  outer 
door  and  turned  it.  The  door  opened  noiselessly. 

He  entered  the  narrow  porch  and  stood  with  his 
ear  against  the  inner  door.  He  could  not  hear 
anything.  He  fumbled  for  the  knob,  found  it,  and 
learned  that  the  inner  door  was  locked.  He  hunted 
under  the  mat  and  in  every  corner  of  the  porch 
for  the  key,  having  heard  somewhere  that  keys 
were  sometimes  hidden  away  in  just  such  foolish 
places.  He  did  not  find  it.  Again  he  listened  at 
the  door,  this  time  with  his  ear  against  the  key- 
hole. The  house  was  silent  as  a  tomb. 

He  left  the  porch,  closed  the  outer  door,  and 
made  his  way  to  the  left  along  the  front  of  the 
house  and  around  the  corner  to  the  woodshed. 
Knowing  that  he  could  not  possibly  avoid  leaving 
a  trail  in  the  snow,  he  shuffled  his  feet  so  as  to 
make  it  an  unreadable  one.  He  did  this  so  artfully 
that  not  one  clear  impression  of  his  big  New  York 
hunting  boots  was  left  in  his  path.  He  opened 
the  door  of  the  shed  without  a  check  and  felt  his 


Mr.  Banks  Is  Stung  219 

way  between  piles  of  stove  wood  to  the  door  of 
the  kitchen. 

"  I  don't  feel  respectable,"  he  murmured.  "  But 
I'll  feel  a  darned  sight  worse  if  any  one  finds  me 
sneaking  'round  like  this.  I  must  get  in,  though, 
and  have  a  look  'round." 

The  kitchen  door  was  fastened  tight.  Banks 
twisted  the  knob  this  way  and  that,  all  in  vain. 
In  spite  of  his  coonskin  coat  and  fur  cap  he  was 
beginning  to  feel  extremely  chilly.  He  promised 
himself  a  husky  pull  at  a  bottle  of  some  kind  or 
other  should  he  ever  manage  to  break  into  the 
house.  He  left  the  shed  and  tried  a  back  window. 
He  could  not  get  a  hold  on  the  sash,  however. 
He  drew  a  heavy  clasp  knife  from  his  pocket  and 
forced  the  strong  blade  between  the  sill  and  the 
bottom  of  the  sash.  In  this  way  he  pried  the  sash 
up  almost  half  an  inch.  The  window  had  not  been 
fastened.  He  returned  to  the  shed,  and  after  a 
few  minutes  of  fumbling  about  in  the  darkness  he 
found  an  axe.  By  using  the  thick  blade  of  the 
axe  in  place  of  the  knife  he  soon  had  the  window 
on  the  move.  He  propped  up  the  sash,  put  the 
axe  back  in  its  place,  and  returned  to  the  window. 
With  a  shove  of  his  right  hand  he  forced  it  up 
to  the  top.  This  done,  he  paused  for  a  moment 


220  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

and  stood  with  every  sense  and  nerve  on  the 
alert.  He  heard  nothing,  saw  nothing,  felt  noth- 
ing. 

"  I  wonder  if  my  little  idea  is  the  right  one," 
he  murmured.  "  I  wonder  what  I  shall  find." 

He  put  his  gloved  hands  on  the  sill,  hoisted  him- 
self, tipped  forward,  and  wriggled  through  the 
window  into  the  dark  and  silent  room.  His  hands 
touched  the  floor  first.  He  pulled  his  legs  across 
the  ledge  and  was  about  to  stand  straight  when  his 
knife  slipped  from  the  pocket  of  his  coat  and  clat- 
tered on  the  floor.  Still  crouched  low,  he  groped 
forward,  found  the  knife  —  and  then! 

It  seemed  to  Harvey  P.  Banks  that  he  had  been 
asleep  a  long,  long  time  on  a  very  uncomfortable 
bed  in  a  very  stuffy  room.  The  greatest  trouble 
with  the  bed  must  be  in  the  arrangement  of  the 
pillows,  he  reflected,  for  his  neck  was  terribly  stiff 
and  sore.  He  did  not  open  his  eyes  right  away. 
There  was  a  feeling  in  his  head  and  eyes  —  yes, 
and  in  his  mouth  —  suggestive  of  other  awakenings, 
in  the  years  of  his  gay  youth.  So  he  lay  with  his 
eyes  closed,  remembering  that  a  too  sudden  opening 
of  the  lids  under  certain  once  familiar  conditions 
was  decidedly  unpleasant.  He  tried  to  get  his  wits 
into  line.  Where  was  he?  Where  had  he  been 


Mr.  Banks  Is  Stung  221 

last  night?  What  had  he  been  drinking?  His  poor 
head  only  throbbed  in  answer.  So,  at  last,  very 
cautiously,  he  raised  his  heavy  lids.  He  gazed  upon 
darkness  —  against  utter  darkness  on  every  side. 
No.  Directly  above  his  head  was  a  faint  sheen  of 
gray.  That  was  a  window,  no  doubt;  but  what 
was  a  window  doing  above  his  head?  That  beat 
him,  and  he  closed  his  eyes  again  and  tried  hard 
to  remember  things.  The  far-away  past  came 
clearly  to  him;  but  that  did  not  help  him.  He 
knew  that  the  things  he  remembered  were  of 
months  —  even  of  years  —  ago. 

He  was  surprised  to  find  that  he  wore  heavy, 
fur-lined  gloves,  a  fur  cap  pulled  low  over  his 
ears  and  forehead,  and  a  coonskin  coat.  He  put 
out  his  right  hand  and  touched  a  wall  of  ice-cold 
dusty  floor.  He  judged  that  the  floor  was  not 
more  than  six  inches  below  the  level  of  his  body. 
He  put  out  his  left  hand  and  touched  a  wall  of 
ice-cold  plaster.  With  a  grunt  of  dawning  dismay 
he  sat  up,  and  though  his  neck  ached,  and  his  head 
spun  and  throbbed  with  the  effort,  he  leaned  for- 
ward and  touched  his  feet  with  his  gloved  hands. 
He  felt  his  heavy  shooting  boots  and  a  flake  or 
two  of  pressed  snow  on  their  soles  —  and  at  that 
his  brain  awoke  and  the  memory  of  his  informal 


222  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

entrance  into  Captain  Wigmore's  house  flashed 
clear.  He  uttered  a  low  cry  of  wonder  and  con- 
sternation. 

"  What  happened?  "  he  whispered.  "  Did  I  fall 
and  stun  myself  as  I  climbed  over  the  window 
sill?" 

His  head  behaved  so  badly  at  this  point  that  he 
lay  prone  again  on  his  hard  couch.  But  now  his 
brain  was  working  clearly,  though  painfully. 
Every  incident  of  his  attempt  to  enter  the  house, 
with  a  view  to  reading  the  mystery  which  he  was 
sure  it  contained,  was  now  as  plain  as  a  picture 
before  his  inner  vision.  He  reviewed  the  whole 
adventure  minutely,  from  the  meeting  with  Wig- 
more  to  the  opening  of  the  window  and  the  drop- 
ping of  the  knife  upon  the  floor  of  the  pitch-black 
room.  But  what  had  happened  after  that?  Some- 
thing sudden  —  and  hard !  Yes,  there  could  be  no 
doubt  of  the  suddenness  and  hardness  of  the  next 
occurrence.  But  what  was  it?  Had  he  toppled 
forward  and  struck  his  head  against  a  piece  of 
furniture?  Or  had  something  possessed  of  indi- 
vidual initiative  hit  him  over  the  head?  He  sat 
up  again,  removed  his  gloves  and  cap,  and  felt  all 
over  his  head  with  chilly,  inquiring  fingers.  He 
could  not  find  any  lump  or  cut;  but  the  back  and 


Mr.  Banks  Is  Stung  223 

top  of  the  head  were  agonizingly  tender  to  the 
touch. 

"  A  sandbag  —  whatever  that  is,"  he  muttered. 
"  I  have  heard  that  they  effect  one  somewhat  in 
this  way,  if  properly  applied." 

He  laughed  shortly  and  painfully.  His  head 
seemed  to  have  recovered  something  of  its  normal 
position  and  balance.  It  felt  more  solid  and  steady, 
and  the  ache  in  it  was  duller.  He  fumbled  through 
the  pockets  of  his  fur  coat  and  found  a  pipe,  to- 
bacco pouch,  and  box  of  matches.  His  clasp  knife 
was  not  there.  Evidently  he  had  not  succeeded 
in  picking  it  up,  that  time. 

"  Sorry  for  that,"  he  muttered.  "  I  could  carve 
my  way  out  of  any  place  with  that  knife." 

He  opened  the  fur  coat,  and  found  the  contents 
of  his  inner  pockets  intact  —  his  watch,  cigar  case, 
three  rifle  cartridges,  the  stub  of  a  pencil,  a  few 
pocket-worn  letters,  and  a  railway  timetable.  He 
knew  each  article  by  the  feel  of  it.  He  opened  the 
match  box,  and  was  glad  to  discover  that  it  was 
full.  Then  he  took  out  his  watch  and  lit  a  match. 
The  hands  of  the  watch  marked  the  time  as  half- 
past  two  —  and  the  fact  that  the  watch  had  not 
run  down  proved  to  him  that  the  hour  was  of 
the  early  morning.  He  had  lain  unconscious  more 


224  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

than  five  hours.  He  wound  the  watch  and  re- 
turned it  to  his  pocket.  Then  he  struck  another 
match,  held  it  high,  and  gazed  inquiringly  around 
him.  The  match  was  of  wax,  and  held  its  flame 
for  nearly  half  a  minute.  He  saw  a  small  room, 
white  and  bare  of  walls,  bare  of  floor,  with  a 
sloping  ceiling,  broken  by  the  square  of  a  little 
skylight.  The  only  article  of  furniture  in  the  place 
was  a  narrow  couch  upon  which  he  sat.  A  door 
of  unpainted  spruce  divided  the  wall  at  that  end 
of  the  room  where  the  ceiling  reached  its  greatest 
height. 

Harvey  P.  Banks  dropped  the  butt  of  the  match 
to  the  floor  and  rubbed  the  spark  out  of  it  with 
his  foot.  He  knew  that  he  was  in  some  one's 
attic;  and  he  felt  almost  equally  sure  that  it  was 
the  attic  of  Captain  Wigmore's  house.  But  who 
had  hit  him  over  the  head  and  then  carried  him 
up  and  deposited  him  in  this  place?  He  had  his 
suspicions,  of  course.  Perhaps  the  captain  had 
sandbagged  him.  The  old  man  might  easily  have 
returned  to  the  house  immediately  after  parting 
with  him  on  the  road.  Or  Timothy  Fletcher? 
Why  not  Timothy  Fletcher?  Wigmore  had  been 
lying  when  he  said  that  Fletcher  had  run  away  to 
New  York.  Banks  had  felt  sure  of  that  at  the 


Mr.  Banks  Is  Stung  225 

time  the  statement  was  made  —  and  now  he  felt 
doubly  sure  of  it.  Very  likely  they  had  both  taken 
a  hand  in  the  game.  Neither  one  of  them  by  him- 
self could  have  carried  Harvey  P.  Banks  up  to 
the  garret. 

Mr.  Banks  felt  cold  and  sleepy  and  sore.  The 
soreness  was  of  spirit  as  well  as  of  body  and  head. 
He  had  certainly  made  a  mess  of  things.  And  he 
felt  anxious  —  decidedly  anxious.  Who  was  to 
make  the  next  move?  And  what  was  the  next 
move  to  be?  He  would  have  paid  high  to  find 
himself  snug  and  safe  in  his  own  bed  in  Reginald 
Rayton's  house.  What  was  Reginald  thinking? 
But  he  had  proved  one  thing!  He  had  proved, 
beyond  a  doubt,  that  the  inmates  of  Captain  Wig- 
more's  house  were  mysterious  and  undesirable 
persons. 

He  lit  a  cigar,  lay  back  on  his  hard  couch,  and 
smoked  reflectively.  His  head  was  not  yet  steady 
enough  to  allow  of  action.  After  an  inch  or  two 
of  the  cigar  had  turned  to  ash,  he  sat  up  and  got 
noiselessly  to  his  feet.  He  had  not  heard  a  sound 
since  recovering  consciousness.  Perhaps  the  house 
was  empty?  He  lit  a  match  and  tiptoed  to  the 
door.  He  turned  the  knob  cautiously.  The  door 
was  locked. 


226  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  I  guess  it's  not  my  turn  yet,"  he  murmured, 
and  went  back  to  the  couch.  He  drew  his  cap  down 
about  his  ears,  fastened  his  fur  coat  up  to  the 
chin,  and  lay  flat  on  his  broad  back.  But  before 
the  cigar  was  finished  he  was  on  his  feet  again. 
He  lifted  the  couch  and  placed  it  with  his  head 
against  the  door.  Then  he  extinguished  the  butt 
of  the  cigar,  lay  down,  and  went  to  sleep. 

Mr.  Banks  awoke  suddenly.  He  was  stiff  and 
cold,  but  every  sense  was  on  the  alert.  His  head 
felt  much  better  than  it  had  before  his  sleep.  The 
room  was  full  of  gray  light  that  filtered  down  from 
the  snow- veiled  window  in  the  roof.  He  looked 
at  his  watch.  It  was  seven  o'clock.  He  listened 
intently,  but  could  not  hear  a  sound. 

"  I  can  see  well  enough  now  to  take  a  hand  in 
the  game,"  he  said.  "  So  I  guess  it  is  my  turn  to 
play." 

He  lifted  the  cot  away  from  the  door  and  set 
it  down  at  one  side  without  a  sound.  Then  he 
raised  his  right  leg,  drew  his  knee  well  back,  pre- 
sented the  heel  of  his  big  boot  at  the  lock  of  the 
door,  and  drove  it  forward  with  all  the  strength 
of  his  great  hip  and  thigh.  The  lock  burst,  and 
fell  in  fragments;  and  the  door,  having  been  con- 
structed so  as  to  open  inward,  split,  and  tore  itself 


Mr.  Banks  Is  Stung  227 

from  its  hinges  and  flapped  wide.  Thick  muscles 
had  bested  thin  iron  in  a  single  effort. 

"There!  Confound  you!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Banks,  staggering  a  little  to  recover  the  balance 
of  his  big  body.  He  saw,  beyond  the  gaping  and 
twisted  door,  by  the  feeble  light  from  his  own 
room,  a  dark,  bare  hall  and  the  unpainted  rails 
around  the  top  of  a  narrow  staircase.  He  ad- 
vanced one  foot  across  the  threshold,  stooped  for- 
ward, and  listened  intently.  His  big  body,  in  its 
big  coat  of  coonskins,  filled  the  width  of  the  door- 
way and  shut  out  much  of  the  feeble  illumination 
that  descended  from  the  skylight  behind  and  above 
him.  So  he  stood  for  a  minute  or  two  before  he 
heard  a  sound  save  that  of  his  own  breathing. 
And  then!  What  is  that?  A  single,  furtive  tap, 
as  of  something  hard  on  a  thin  edge  of  wood,  close 
in  front  of  him.  He  turned  sideways  on  the 
threshold  so  as  to  let  the  light  from  behind  him 
reach  the  floor  in  front. 

What  was  that,  thin  and  black,  slanting  up  at 
him  between  the  rounds  of  the  railing?  It  had  a 
sinister  look.  It  did  not  move.  Behind  it  was 
the  black  gulf  of  the  stairway.  Mr.  Banks  hesi- 
tated for  a  moment,  then  began  to  edge  forward. 

"  Stop  where  you  are ! "  commanded  a  voice  — 


228  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

the  voice  of  old  Captain  Wigmore.  "  This  thing 
is  the  barrel  of  a  rifle.  I  am  behind  the  rifle.  If 
I  press  on  the  trigger,  my  dear  Banks,  I  am  sure 
to  hit  you  somewhere,  you  are  so  unnecessarily 
large.  In  the  belly,  most  likely.  That's  right! 
Stand  still." 

"  You,  Wigmore !  "  exclaimed  the  New  Yorker. 
"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  What  are  you 
talking  about?  You  must  be  stark  mad!" 

The  other  laughed.  It  was  a  most  discomforting 
sound.  The  laugh  of  a  land  crab  —  if  the  beast 
could  laugh  —  would  doubtless  resemble  Captain 
Wigmore's  expression  of  mirth. 

;<  You  seem  to  be  indignant,  my  dear  fellow," 
he  said,  with  exasperating  calm.  "  But  what  do 
you  expect?  I  caught  you  breaking  into  my  house 
when  you  were  under  the  impression  that  I  was 
not  at  home.  Do  you  think  I  should  have  put  you 
in  my  own  bed,  with  a  hot-water  bottle  at  your 
feet,  and  carried  your  breakfast  up  to  you  this 
morning?  No,  no,  my  dear  Banks!  It  is  my  duty 
to  this  country,  and  to  society  in  general,  to  keep 
a  firm  hand  on  you  until  the  officers  of  the  law 
relieve  me  of  the  charge." 

"You  old  hypocrite!"  cried  Banks.  "You 
scheming,  lying,  old  devil !  Bring  the  officers  of  the 


Mr.  Banks  Is  Stung  229 

law!  The  sooner  they  get  here  the  better  I'll  be 
pleased.  I  have  something  to  say  to  them." 

Wigmore  chuckled.  "  I  haven't  sent  for  them 
yet,"  he  said.  "  I  rather  enjoy  the  prospect  of 
looking  after  you  myself  for  a  little  while.  I  can 
stand  it  —  if  you  can." 

Mr.  Banks  watched  the  barrel  of  the  rifle  out 
of  the  corner  of  his  eye;  but  the  menacing  thing 
did  not  waver. 

"Where  is  Timothy  Fletcher?"  he  asked. 

"So  that  is  your  bright  suspicion,  is  it?"  re- 
turned Wigmore  cheerfully.  "  He  went  to  New 
York,  I  told  you.  Where  do  you  think  he  is  ?  " 

"  In  this  house,  you  old  ape !  "  cried  Banks. 

Wigmore  hooted. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE   LITTLE    CAT   AND   THE   BIG    MOUSE 

THE  light  was  stronger,  though  still  gray  and 
thin.  It  was  the  light  of  an  unsunlit  November 
day  filtered  through  a  small  square  of  snowdrifted 
glass  into  a  chilly  garret.  The  light  alone  was 
enough  to  drop  a  man's  heart  to  the  depths;  but 
it  was  not  the  only  thing  that  depressed  Harvey 
P.  Banks.  He  was  anxious,  cold,  and  hungry.  He 
was  sickened  with  disgust  of  himself  and  hate  of 
Captain  Wigmore.  His  head  ached,  his  neck  and 
shoulders  were  sore.  To  add  to  all  this  he  could 
now  see  the  face  and  eyes  of  his  jailer  by  the 
cheerless  light.  The  sight  was  not  one  calculated 
to  dispel  his  anxiety  or  warm  his  blood.  The  eyes 
gleamed  bale  fully  up  from  the  gloom  of  the  stair- 
way, with  a  green  gleam  in  them  like  the  eyes  of 
a  cat  watching  its  helpless  prey.  In  front  of  the 
eyes  showed  the  black  barrel  of  the  rifle. 

"  How  long  do  you  intend  to  keep  up  this 
farce?"  inquired  Banks. 

230 


The  Little  Cat  and  the  Big  Mouse  231 

"  I  can  stand  it  as  long  as  you  can,"  was  the 
crisp  reply. 

"  Very  likely ;  but  I  don't  see  that  I  have  any 
say  in  the  matter  just  now." 

'  You  are  wrong,  my  big  friend.  You  can  have 
your  liberty  —  qualified  liberty  —  this  minute  if 
you  wish.  All  you  have  to  do  is  swear  to  me, 
on  your  honor  as  a  Christian  and  a  gentleman, 
that  you  will  never  mention  this  little  adventure 
to  a  living  person.  You  must  invent  some  story 
for  Rayton  and  set  out  for  New  York  to-night. 
You  must  drop  this  feeble  idea  of  yours  of  play- 
ing the  detective.  In  short,  you  must  swear  to 
mind  your  own  business  in  the  future  and  leave 
me  and  mine  alone." 

"  I'll  see  you  in  hell  first !  "  cried  the  sportsman. 
"  I  am  on  your  trail,  and  I'll  stick  to  it.  You'll 
pay  heavily  for  this." 

Wigmore  chuckled.  "Pay?"  he  said.  "Pay? 
You  forget,  you  big  slob,  that  I  am  banker  in  this 
game  —  and  I  am  not  the  kind  of  banker  that 
pays." 

"  What  do  you  think  you  are  going  to  do  with 
me?"  asked  Banks,  with  outward  calm. 

"  Lots  of  things,"  replied  Wigmore.  "  I  will 
reduce  your  flesh,  for  one  thing;  and  your  fat 


pride  for  another.  I'll  make  you  whimper  and 
crawl  'round  on  your  knees.  But  just  now  I'll  re- 
quest you  to  come  downstairs.  Since  you  have 
broken  the  door  of  that  room,  I  must  give  you 
another." 

"  I  hope  the  other  room  will  be  an  improvement 
on  this." 

"  Yes.     A  very  comfortable  room." 

"And  what  about  breakfast?" 

"  You  will  have  a  cup  of  tea  in  half  an  hour 
—  if  you  behave  yourself  in  the  meantime." 

Banks  laughed  uncertainly. 

"  See  here,  captain,  don't  you  think  this  joke 
has  gone  far  enough?"  he  asked. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Wigmore.  "  My  joke  has 
just  begun.  Yours  ended  very  quickly,  on  the 
floor  of  my  sitting  room  —  but  that  was  your  own 
fault.  You  are  a  blundering  joker,  Banks.  You 
should  have  made  sure  that  I  was  not  at  home 
before  you  went  round  shaking  all  the  doors,  and 
then  crawled  through  the  window.  But  that  is  a 
thing  of  the  past,  now,  and  so  beyond  mending. 
I  hope  you  will  derive  more  entertainment  from 
my  joke  than  you  did  from  your  own." 

Banks  had  no  answer  to  make  to  that.  He  fisted 
his  big  hands  and  breathed  heavily. 


THEN    HE   HALTED    AND   RECOILED,   CLUTCHING   AT  THE   COLD 
WALLS  !  " 


The  Little  Cat  and  the  Big  Mouse  233 

"  I  must  ask  you  now  to  step  back  to  the  farther 
wall  of  your  room,"  said  Wigmore. 

Banks  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  backed 
across  the  threshold  and  across  the  little  room  until 
his  shoulders  touched  the  farther  wall. 

"  Stay  there  until  I  give  you  the  word,"  said 
the  old  man. 

Then  face  and  rifle  barrel  vanished,  and,  at  the 
same  instant,  Banks  moved  forward  noiselessly  and 
swiftly,  lifted  the  couch  in  his  strong  hands,  and 
dropped  it  down  the  dark  well  of  the  staircase. 
It  crashed  and  banged  against  the  wooden  steps 
and  the  plaster  walls;  and  before  its  clattering  had 
ceased  the  big  sportsman  himself  was  halfway 
down  the  stairs.  Halfway  —  and  then  he  halted 
and  recoiled,  clutching  at  the  cold  walls!  The 
couch  had  been  a  second  too  slow  in  following 
Wigmore,  and  Banks  a  second  too  slow  in  follow- 
ing the  couch.  The  captain  stood  at  the  bottom 
of  the  stairs,  a  foot  beyond  the  wreckage  of  the 
couch,  laughing  sardonically  and  presenting  the 
muzzle  of  the  rifle  fair  at  his  captive's  waist. 

"  That  was  a  false  start,"  he  said.  "  But  I  was 
expecting  it,  fortunately." 

Banks  sat  down  on  a  dusty  step,  trembling  vio- 
lently. He  felt  sick  —  actually  sick  at  his  stomach 


234  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

—  with  rage,  chagrin,  and  terror  of  that  ready  rifle 
and  the  sinister  face  behind  it.     The  eyes  of  the 
old  man  were  more  terrifying  than  the  menacing 
black   eye   of   the    weapon.     The    gleam   at    their 
depths  was  scarcely  human. 

"Well?"  asked  Banks,  at  last,  weakly.  He 
passed  a  gloved  hand  across  his  forehead.  "  Well  ? 
What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"  That  depends  on  you,"  said  the  captain.  "  If 
you  throw  furniture  at  me  every  time  I  turn  my 
back,  I'll  be  forced  to  knock  you  out  again  and 
tie  you  up.  I  can't  risk  being  killed  by  you,  for 
my  life  is  valuable." 

"  Do  you  intend  to  hit  me  again  with  the  sand- 
bag?" asked  the  New  Yorker  thickly. 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  to  take  that  risk  again," 
replied  the  other.  "  Another  crack  like  that  might 
kill  you  —  and  I  don't  want  to  kill  you  just  yet, 
unless  I  have  to.  Perhaps  I  won't  kill  you  at  all, 
my  dear  fellow.  I  may  —  of  course;  but  I  don't 
think  so  at  the  moment.  I  am  whimsical,  however 

—  a  man  of  quick  and  innumerable  moods.     How- 
ever, I  do  not  expect  to  thump  you  again  with  the 
sandbag.     I  have  this  rifle  —  for  serious  work  — 
and  this  queer-looking  little  pistol  for  the  joking. 
It  is  a  chemical  pistol  —  quite  a  new  invention.     I 


The  Little  Cat  and  the  Big  Mouse  235 

have  tested  it,  and  found  it  to  be  all  the  manufac- 
turers claim  for  it.  Don't  move !  You  can  see  and 
hear  perfectly  well  where  you  are!  If  I  discharge 
it  in  your  face,  at  a  range  of  twenty  feet,  or  under, 
it  will  stun  you,  and  leave  you  stunned  for  an  hour 
or  more,  without  tearing  the  flesh  or  breaking  any 
bones.  The  thing  that  hits  you  is  gas  —  I  forget 
just  what  kind.  It  is  pretty  potent,  anyway  —  and 
I  don't  suppose  you  are  particular  as  to  what  va- 
riety of  gas  you  are  shot  with.  It  is  a  fine  inven- 
tion, and  works  like  a  charm.  I  am  quite  eager 
to  test  it  again." 

"  Don't !  Don't !  Great  heavens,  man,  have  you 
gone  mad  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Banks. 

Old  Wigmore  raised  the  odd,  sinister-looking 
pistol  in  his  left  hand. 

"  I  don't  think  it  hurts  very  much,"  he  said. 
"  Feels  like  being  smothered,  I  believe.  Of  course 
the  shock  may  be  quite  severe  at  such  close  range 
as  this." 

Banks  closed  his  eyes.  He  was  less  of  a  cow- 
ard than  most  men;  but  to  sit  there  on  the 
narrow  stairs,  chilled  and  helpless,  and  wait  for 
the  discharge  of  an  unknown  weapon  in  his 
face  was  more  than  courage  and  nerves  could 
stand. 


236  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  Shoot !  "  he  screamed.  "  Shoot,  and  be  done 
with  it!" 

He  cut  a  queer  figure,  humped  there  bulkily,  in 
his  great  fur  coat,  with  the  fur  cap  pulled  low 
about  his  ears,  his  eyes  shut  tight,  and  his  big  face 
colorless  with  fatigue  and  apprehension  —  a  queer, 
pathetic,  tragic  figure.  He  waited  for  the  explo- 
sion, every  sense  and  every  nerve  stretched  till  his 
very  skin  ached.  His  mind  was  in  a  whirl.  The 
thumping  of  his  heart  sounded  in  his  ears  like 
the  roaring  and  pounding  of  surf. 

"  Shoot !  Shoot !  "  he  whispered,  with  dry  lips 
and  leathern  tongue. 

And  still  he  waited  —  waited.  At  last  he  could 
bear  the  strain  no  longer.  He  uttered  a  harsh  cry, 
stumbled  to  his  feet,  and  opened  his  eyes,  leaning 
one  shoulder  heavily  against  a  wall  of  the  stair- 
case. A  gasp  of  relief  escaped  him.  Wigmore 
had  retreated,  and  now  stood  several  yards  away 
from  the  bottom  step.  The  muzzle  of  the  rifle  was 
still  toward  his  victim,  but  his  left  hand,  gripping 
that  terrible,  mysterious,  little  weapon,  was  lowered 
to  his  side.  He  chuckled.  His  face  looked  like 
that  of  a  very  old,  very  unhuman,  and  very  goatish 
satyr. 

"  Wipe  your  eyes,  my  dear  Banks,"  he  said.     "  I 


The  Little  Cat  and  the  Big  Mouse  237 

won't  hurt  you,  you  poor  little  thing.  Dry  your 
eyes,  and  come  down  the  rest  of  the  way.  I'll 
stand  here,  at  the  head  of  these  stairs,  while  you 
toddle  into  that  room.  Then  I'll  lock  the  door, 
which  is  very  strong,  and  get  you  your  cup  of 
tea.  Come  along!  Come  along!  I  haven't  the 
heart  to  hurt  such  a  white-livered  whimperer." 

For  a  moment  the  big  sportsman  glared  at  him, 
contemplating  a  mad  rush,  at  the  risk  of  a  bullet 
through  his  breast  —  but  only  for  a  moment. 
Something  in  the  old  man's  leer  told  him  that  the 
finger  on  the  trigger  would  not  hesitate,  the  muzzle 
would  not  waver.  To  attack  now  would  be  suicide. 
He  realized  that  he  was  at  the  mercy  of  a  madman. 

"  I'm  coming.  I'll  be  mightly  glad  of  the  tea," 
he  said,  with  a  painful  attempt  at  a  smile. 

He  made  his  way  falteringly  to  the  bottom  of 
the  steps,  across  the  hall,  and  into  the  room  indi- 
cated by  the  old  man.  All  the  fight  and  all  the 
strength  had  gone  out  of  him  —  for  the  time  being, 
at  least.  The  terrible  play  on  the  stairs  had  taken 
more  stamina  out  of  him  than  a  day's  march 
through  a  tangled  wilderness,  with  a  seventy-pound 
pack  on  his  shoulders.  He  staggered  to  the  bed, 
and  sat  down  dizzily  on  the  edge  of  it.  Old  Wig- 
more  stood  on  the  threshold,  leering. 


238  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  I  hope  you  like  the  room,"  he  said.  "  I  spent 
most  of  the  night  in  fixing  it  up  for  you." 

"  Thanks.  It  looks  fine,"  replied  Banks.  And 
it  really  was  fine,  he  noticed,  gazing  around  with 
reviving  hope.  There  was  a  window  —  a  real  win- 
dow —  in  the  wall.  He  could  soon  attract  atten- 
tion from  that  window,  or  let  himself  out  of  it 
by  a  rope  made  of  bedclothes.  He  had  read  of 
that  dodge  a  dozen  times.  The  old  fellow  was  mad 
certainly;  but  there  did  not  seem  to  be  much 
method  in  his  madness,  after  all.  Banks  turned  his 
face  away  so  as  to  hide  a  wan  smile. 

"  Sit  where  you  are,  my  boy,  and  I'll  bring  your 
tea  in  a  minute,"  said  the  old  man. 

Then  he  stepped  back  and  closed  the  door. 
Banks  continued  to  sit  on  the  bed  and  gaze  around 
the  room,  uncertain  whether  to  go  to  the  window 
now  or  wait  until  Wigmore  had  brought  the  tea 
and  again  retired.  He  did  not  want  to  bungle 
things  by  being  in  too  great  a  hurry.  With  a  little 
patience  and  cunning  on  his  part,  his  mad  old 
jailer  would  soon  be  in  his  power.  He  decided 
to  wait  where  he  was.  The  bed  was  soft,  and  he 
was  woefully  tired.  He  turned  sideways,  threw 
his  feet  up,  and  sank  head  and  shoulders  back 
upon  the  tempting  pillows. 


The  Little  Cat  and  the  Big  Mouse  239 

With  a  sharp  click,  followed  by  a  soft  thud,  the 
middle  of  the  bed  sank  to  the  floor,  and  the  bul- 
ging sides  folded  inward  upon  the  astonished  Mr. 
Banks.  He  shouted  and  struggled;  but  his  head 
was  lower  than  his  heels,  and  his  arms  were  pinned 
firmly  against  his  sides.  At  last  he  twisted  over 
until  he  lay  on  his  left  shoulder,  and  his  right  arm 
was  clear.  In  another  minute  he  would  have  been 
out  of  the  ridiculous  trap;  but  suddenly  Captain 
Wigmore  appeared,  slipped  a  rope  around  the  im- 
bedded ankles,  and  bound  them  tight;  and  another 
around  the  free  arm,  and  made  it  fast  to  the  head 
of  the  bed.  Then  the  old  man  stood  and  leered 
down  at  him. 

"  You  are  a  terrible  fellow  for  smashing  furni- 
ture," he  said.  "  You  have  a  very  violent  temper. 
Out  you  come !  Out  you  come !  " 

With  incredible  strength,  the  old  man  gripped 
the  big,  floundering  sportsman,  and  yanked  him 
from  the  bed,  where  he  lay  helpless,  with  his  feet 
tied  together,  and  his  right  wrist  fast  to  the  bed. 

"  There  you  are !  "  remarked  Wigmore  briskly. 
"  Now,  will  you  be  good  ?  Sit  up,  while  I  fix  the 
bed.  Sit  up,  do  you  hear?  Then  I'll  give  you 
your  breakfast.  You  don't  deserve  it  —  but  I  have 
a  tender  heart." 


240  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

He  prodded  Banks  with  the  toe  of  his  boot. 
Banks  sat  up  without  a  word.  His  rage  clouded 
his  mind  and  deadened  his  tongue.  Wigmore 
dragged  the  heavy  bedding  to  the  floor,  and  gazed 
with  admiration  at  the  bedstead.  All  the  slats,  save 
a  few  at  the  foot,  were  hinged  in  the  middle. 

"  My  own  invention,"  said  the  old  man.  '''  Very 
ingenious,  don't  you  think?  But  it  has  done  its 
work,  so  let  it  lie.  Here  are  some  blankets  for 
you,  Banks.  Hope  you  don't  object  to  sleeping  on 
the  floor." 

He  tossed  an  armful  of  blankets  into  his  pris- 
oner's lap,  and  walked  briskly  from  the  room.  He 
was  back  in  half  a  minute,  carrying  a  tray,  which 
he  placed  on  the  floor  within  reach  of  Bank's  free 
hand. 

"  Help  yourself,"  he  said.  Then  he  went  out, 
shutting  the  door  behind  him. 

Mr.  Banks  sat  motionless  for  a  full  minute, 
staring  at  the  tray.  A  small  teapot  stood  there, 
with  steam  rising  from  its  spout.  It  was  flanked 
on  the  right  by  a  small  jug  of  cream,  and  on  the 
left  by  an  empty  cup.  In  front  squatted  a  round 
dish  under  a  cover.  At  last  Banks  pulled  off  his 
fur  cap,  and  wiped  the  cold  perspiration  from  his 
brow  with  the  palm  of  a  grimy  hand. 


The  Little  Cat  and  the  Big  Mouse  241 

"  I  suppose  the  old  devil  has  doped  it,"  he  whis- 
pered, with  a  sigh.  "Of  course  he  has!  \yhat's 
the  good  of  supposing?" 

With  an  effort,  he  turned  his  face  away  from 
the  teapot  and  the  covered  dish.  He  shifted  back 
a  little,  so  that  the  rope  did  not  pull  on  his  right 
arm.  He  gazed  intently  at  the  window,  door, 
walls,  and  ceiling. 

"  I  must  plan  a  way  to  get  out,"  he  muttered. 
"  I  must  plan  a  way  to  fool  this  old  fiend." 

But  he  could  not  concentrate  his  thoughts,  for 
most  of  them  were  with  his  heart  —  yearning  to- 
ward the  teapot  and  the  covered  dish.  At  last  he 
gave  way,  and  allowed  his  gaze  to  rest  again  upon 
the  silent  tempters.  His  left  hand  went  out  to 
them,  then  came  slowly  back.  He  sighed,  un- 
fastened his  coonskin  coat,  and  cursed  old  Wig- 
more  huskily,  but  heartily.  Again  the  hand 
advanced.  He  lifted  the  teapot  and  poured 
some  of  the  steaming  amber  liquid  into  the 
cup. 

"  It  looks  all  right,"  he  murmured.  "  But  what's 
the  use  of  looking  at  it?  Of  course  the  old  beast 
has  doped  it!  Heaven  help  him  when  I  get  hold 
of  him!" 

He  set  the  teapot  down,  and  groaned.     He  told 


242  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

himself  to  turn  away;  to  forget  the  craving  in 
his  stomach;  that  he  was  not  really  hungry.  He 
assured  himself  that  it  is  beneficial  to  go  without 
food  now  and  then  —  for  a  day,  or  even  for  two 
days.  Then  he  remembered  having  read  some- 
where that  smoking  allays  the  gnawing  of  hunger. 
He  produced  a  cigar  from  the  case  in  his  pocket, 
and  lit  it  fumblingly.  While  he  smoked  he  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  tray.  Suddenly  he  leaned 
forward  and  lifted  the  cover  from  the  dish. 

"Buttered  toast!"  he  exclaimed,  in  so  tragic  a 
voice  that  the  sound  of  it  brought  a  smile  to  his 
dry  lips.  He  replaced  the  cover  with  such  violence 
as  to  crack  the  dish.  After  smoking  gloomily  for 
another  minute  or  two,  he  again  allowed  his  atten- 
tions to  dwell  upon  the  tea,  toast,  and  cream.  He 
lifted  the  half-filled  cup  and  sniffed  it.  Did  he 
detect  a  bitterness  in  the  clean,  faint  fragrance  of 
it,  or  was  the  bitterness  only  in  his  imagination? 
He  tilted  the  cup  this  way  and  that,  searching  the 
clear  liquid  for  some  cloudy  sign  of  danger.  He 
was  unsuccessful.  He  sniffed  it  again,  and  this 
time  could  not  detect  the  least  suggestion  of  bit- 
terness. 

"  I  am  a  fool !  "  he  muttered.  "  My  nerves  have 
gone  to  pieces !  " 


The  Little  Cat  and  the  Big  Mouse  243 

With  a  quick  hand,  he  slopped  a  little  of  the 
cream  into  the  tea,  and  raised  the  cup  swiftly  to 
his  lips.  But  he  did  not  part  his  lips.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  sat  motionless,  with  the  cup  raised  and 
tilted  —  and  then,  with  an  oath,  he  replaced  it  on 
the  tray,  untasted.  The  momentary  gratification  of 
thirst  and  hunger  was  not  worth  the  risk.  He 
turned  his  back  upon  the  tray,  and  puffed  away 
resolutely  at  his  cigar.  He  would  show  the  old 
devil  that  he  was  not  entirely  a  fool! 

Banks  finished  the  cigar;  and  still  old  Wigmore 
had  not  returned.  The  tray  still  remained  on  the 
floor.  Banks  hitched  himself  to  the  head  of  the 
bed,  and  set  to  work  with  his  left  hand  to  unfasten 
the  knots  in  the  rope  which  bound  him  to  that 
cursed,  ingenious  bedstead.  The  rope  was  small, 
and  the  knots  were  hard;  but  at  last  the  outer 
knot  began  to  loosen.  He  paused  frequently  in 
his  work  to  glance  over  his  shoulder  at  the  door, 
and  to  hearken  intently.  At  last  he  was  free  from 
the  bed,  but  with  the  length  of  line  still  hanging 
from  his  wrist.  Now  he  crawled  across  the  room 
to  the  door,  stood  up  on  his  bound  feet,  and  tried 
the  handle.  The  door  was  locked,  as  he  had  ex- 
pected. Seated  with  his  broad  back  against  it, 
he  worried  the  cord  at  his  ankles  with  both  hands 


244  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

until  its  three  stubborn  knots  were  undone.  Then, 
moving  on  tiptoe,  he  carried  the  heavy  bedstead 
across  the  room,  and  stood  it  solidly  against  the 
door. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

AN  ASTONISHING  DISCOVERY 

THE  room  was  not  elaborately  furnished,  but 
every  piece  was  good  of  its  kind.  Mr.  Banks 
worked  busily,  moving  about  stealthily  on  the  toes 
of  his  great  boots.  He  had  shed  his  coat,  by  this 
time,  and  rid  his  right  arm  of  the  dangling  length 
of  rope.  Atop  the  hinged  slats  of  the  bed  he  placed 
a  substantial  chest  of  drawers,  thus  reen forcing  the 
barricade  and  squaring  himself  with  the  ingenious 
slats  by  one  and  the  same  move. 

"  It  will  take  a  bigger  man  than  Wigmore  to 
get  in  at  me  now,"  murmured  the  sportsman. 

He  was  tremendously  pleased  with  his  job,  but 
did  not  waste  much  time  in  admiring  it.  Now  that 
he  was  secure  from  interruption  for  a  while,  at 
least,  was  the  time  to  develop  the  possibilities  of 
the  window.  He  would  try  to  attract  the  attention 
of  some  passer-by.  If  there  did  not  happen  to  be 
any  passer-by,  which  was  frequently  the  case,  in 
Samson's  Mill  Settlement,  for  hours  at  a  time  — 

245 


246  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

then  he  would  join  the  pieces  of  rope  with  which 
he  had  been  bound,  lengthen  the  result  with  a  blan- 
ket, and  lower  himself  into  the  free  outside  world. 
Old  Wigmore  might  shoot  at  him  through  the 
panels  of  the  door,  but  he  was  more  than  willing 
to  take  the  risk  of  being  hit  by  such  blind  shooting. 
Once  outside,  he  felt  that  he  would  be  safe.  Not 
even  the  mad  captain  was  mad  enough  to  murder 
him  in  open  sight  of  the  road  and  fields.  These 
reflections  occupied  his  mind  during  the  seconds 
in  which  he  turned  from  his  contemplation  of  the 
barricade.  He  made  one  step  toward  the  window, 

and  then 

"  Halt ! "  exclaimed  the  voice  of  Captain  Wig- 
more,  shrill,  clear  and  menacing.  Banks  halted, 
with  a  gasp,  and  turned  his  face  toward  the  hate- 
ful sound.  To  his  dismay,  he  beheld  the  devilish 
face  of  the  old  man  leering  horribly  within  seven 
feet  of  him,  through  a  square  and  unsuspected 
aperture  in  the  door.  With  a  low  cry  of  defiance 
and  nervous  fright,  he  tried  to  set  his  limbs  in 
motion  again.  Would  his  feet  never  move?  He 
seemed  to  pass  through  a  whole  minute  of  terrific 
but  futile  exertion.  It  was  like  a  grotesque  night- 
mare of  childhood  days  —  grotesque,  but  horrible. 
He  saw  the  old  man's  hand  appear  beside  the  leer- 


An  Astonishing  Discovery  247 

ing  face.  In  the  hand  was  that  queerly  shaped 
pistol.  And  still  his  feet  clung  to  the  floor  as 
if  they  were  lead!  A  dull,  feeble,  popping  report 
came  to  his  aching  ears.  And  then  something 
gripped  his  windpipe  with  huge,  hard  fingers ;  some 
one  struck  him  to  earth  with  a  gigantic  balloon ;  a 
blank  wave  curled  about  him,  fell  upon  him, 
pounded  the  life  from  his  battling  lungs,  and 
dragged  him,  limp  and  dead,  to  the  unsounded 
depths. 

Captain  Wigmore  had  discharged  his  chemical 
pistol  in  the  big  sportsman's  face.  That  is  all.  He 
had  slipped  the  panel,  cried  halt,  raised  his  hand, 
and  pulled  the  trigger,  all  within  two  seconds  of 
time. 

When  Mr.  Banks  recovered  consciousness  for  the 
second  time  since  crawling  into  Wigmore's  house, 
he  felt  much  worse  than  he  had  on  the  first  oc- 
casion. He  felt  very,  very  sick  at  the  very  pit 
of  his  stomach.  His  poor  head  was  in  a  terrible 
way.  At  one  moment  his  brains  seemed  to  be 
floating  far  above  him,  light  and  thin  as  smoke, 
and  at  the  next  they  lay  heavily,  but  loosely,  in 
his  sore  skull,  like  a  fragment  of  iron,  sliding  from 
side  to  side.  He  lay  flat,  and  groaned.  Half  an 
hour  passed  before  he  ventured  to  sit  up  and  open 


248  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

his  eyes.  Absolute  darkness  surrounded  him.  He 
felt  about  with  his  hands,  and  found  that  he  was 
lying  on  a  folded  blanket.  He  inquired  further, 
and  discovered  that  his  new  lodging  was  nothing 
but  a  tiny  closet,  about  seven  feet  deep,  and  four 
feet  wide,  with  a  steeply  sloping  roof.  The  roof 
was  made  of  a  series  of  sharp-cornered  humps. 
He  bumped  his  head  against  one  of  them  —  and 
that  enlightened  him.  He  was  in  a  closet  under 
a  staircase.  His  fur  coat  had  been  left  in  the 
bedroom;  but,  fortunately,  the  closet  was  not  very 
cold.  After  another  and  briefer  rest  upon  the  flat 
of  his  back,  he  decided  to  try  a  smoke.  He  thrust 
a  hand  slowly  into  one  pocket,  less  slowly  into  an- 
other, then  swiftly  and  desperately  into  pocket  after 
pocket.  All  were  empty !  Not  so  much  as  a  match 
had  been  left  to  him;  not  so  much  as  a  crumb 
of  tobacco. 

The  rage  which  this  discovery  inspired  in  the 
breast  of  Mr.  Banks  was  out  of  all  proportion 
to  the  seriousness  of  his  loss.  The  effect  upon  him 
was  stupendous.  Sandbagging,  binding,  and  pistol- 
ing had  all  failed  to  lift  him  to  such  a  height  of 
resentment  at  this.  Why,  even  he  could  not  have 
explained.  His  big  boots  were  left  to  him  —  and 
his  voice,  such  as  it  was.  He  began  to  shout  and 


An  Astonishing  Discovery  249 

stamp  his  feet  on  the  floor.  His  voice  limbered 
up,  and  grew  in  strength,  until  the  dry-tongued  cry 
became  a  gigantic  bellow.  The  feet  pounded  up 
and  down  until  they  encountered  the  door;  and 
then  they  began  to  swing  back  and  forth.  The 
door  winced  and  shook  at  every  blow.  It  was  a 
strong  door,  however,  hung  on  massive  hinges, 
fastened  with  a  big  lock,  and  barred  in  three  places 
with  rods  of  iron.  Wigmore  had  taken  no  chances 
with  this  door.  He  had  fixed  things  this  time  so 
that  his  prisoner  was  put  to  stay.  That  was  his 
idea,  anyway. 

At  last,  reeling  and  breathless  from  his  exertions, 
Banks  sank  to  the  floor,  and  lay  still  and  silent. 
For  a  little  while  his  head  span  sickeningly,  and  his 
mind  and  senses  lay  torpid;  but  only  for  a  little 
while.  This  outbreak  had  done  him  good  —  had  re- 
vived him  to  the  finger  tips.  He  sat  up  presently 
and  listened  for  the  approach  of  his  enemy.  Surely 
all  that  bellowing  and  thumping  would  bring  him. 

"  If  he  opens  that  door,  pistol  or  no  pistol,  it'll 
be  the  end  of  him,"  remarked  the  New  Yorker. 
And  he  meant  it.  He  was  ready  for  murder.  He 
raised  himself  to  his  knees,  ascertained  the  position 
of  the  door  with  his  hand,  and  faced  it,  waiting 
in  savage  expectancy. 


250  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

At  last  his  straining  ears  caught  a  sound.  It 
was  a  very  faint  sound,  and  it  came  from  the  left 
instead  of  from  the  door.  It  was  repeated  —  a 
faint,  furtive  tapping,  like  the  tapping  of  a  flipped 
finger  against  plaster.  He  moved  cautiously  toward 
the  sound.  It  came  again.  He  put  out  his  hand, 
and  touched  the  rough  lath  and  plaster  of  the 
wall.  How  frail  the  barrier  felt!  He  stood  up 
very  cautiously.  "  It  may  be  a  mouse  —  and  it 
may  be  Wigmore  —  but  it  is  worth  trying,"  he 
whispered.  Then  he  swung  his  right  foot  back- 
ward slowly,  and  brought  it  forward  with  all  the 
force  that  lay  in  that  long  and  muscular  shank. 
A  sound  of  cracking  plaster  and  splintered  laths 
rewarded  and  encouraged  him.  He  steadied  him- 
self, with  one  hand  on  the  door  and  one  on  the 
slope  of  the  staircase,  and  settled  down  to  kick- 
ing. His  boot  was  thick,  his  leg  strong,  and  his 
heart  in  the  job.  Things  cracked  and  smashed  and 
splintered.  At  last  he  knelt  and  advanced  an  in- 
quiring hand.  The  blackness  was  full  of  the  dust 
of  powdered  plaster.  He  found  a  ragged-edged 
break  in  the  wall,  and  thrust  his  hand  into  it. 

Mr.  Banks  snatched  his  hand  back  to  his  own 
side  of  the  pierced  partition,  at  the  same  time  ut- 
tering a  sharp  cry  of  dismay.  Nothing  had  hurt 


An  Astonishing  Discovery  251 

him;  but  in  the  blackness  beyond  his  own  narrow 
blackness  his  fingers  had  encountered  flesh  —  the 
flesh  of  a  human  nose  and  eyebrow.  He  sagged 
back  on  his  haunches,  limp  and  trembling.  What- 
ever he  had  expected  to  find,  this  was  not  it. 

"Who  is  there?  Speak!  Who  is  there?"  he 
whispered. 

No  voice  answered  him;  but  again  he  heard  that 
thin  rapping,  like  the  flipping  of  a  finger  against 
a  hard,  dry  surface.  It  was  a  trifle  louder  this 
time,  but  in  exactly  the  same  position. 

"Can't  you  speak?  Speak,  for  Heaven's  sake!" 
cried  Banks. 

This  time  he  was  answered  by  a  low,  muffled, 
strangled  groan.  He  searched  his  pockets  again, 
with  shaking  fingers;  and,  at  last,  in  a  little  roll 
of  woolen  dust  in  the  corner  of  his  match  pocket, 
he  found  one  wax  match.  This  first  seemed  such 
a  great  and  joyful  thing  to  him  that  he  had  diffi- 
culty in  restraining  his  laughter. 

"  Wigmore,  you  old  devil,  here's  where  I  have 
you  at  last !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You're  a  fool !  You 
should  have  picked  my  pockets  thoroughly  while 
you  were  about  it.  This  little  match  will  prove  your 
undoing  —  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Harvey  P. 
Banks!" 


252  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

He  began  to  chuckle  —  and  the  sound  of  his 
chuckling  quieted  and  steadied  him  in  a  flash. 
"  That  won't  do,"  he  said.  "  That  sounds  down- 
right idiotic.  I  must  keep  a  grip  on  myself." 

With  his  left  hand  he  found  a  safe  and  suitable 
spot  on  the  wall  for  the  striking  of  the  precious 
match;  and  then,  with  his  trembling  right  hand, 
he  struck  it.  The  little  flame  hissed  into  existence, 
then  caught  the  wax,  and  burned  clear  and  quiet. 
He  crouched  low,  and  thrust  the  burning  match 
through  the  hole  in  the  lath  and  plaster,  and  into 
the  chamber  beyond,  by  the  length  of  his  arm.  The 
hole  was  about  three  feet  long  and  twelve  or  fifteen 
inches  wide.  He  shuffled  forward  and  thrust  his 
head  between  the  jaws  of  ragged  plaster  and 
splintered  laths. 

The  match  lit  a  closet  even  smaller  than  the  one 
in  which  Banks  lay.  Banks  beheld  rough  walls,  a 
sloping  roof,  a  door,  and,  directly  under  his  hand, 
a  small  human  figure,  bound  and  gagged. 

'Timothy  Fletcher!"  he  exclaimed.  "So  this 
is  New  York  —  for  you !  " 

The  old  man's  bright  eyes  blinked  like  an  owl's. 
He  lay  close  against  the  wall,  and  now  Banks  saw 
one  finger  —  one  free  finger  —  dart  out  and  tap 
the  plaster. 


An  Astonishing  Discovery  253 

"  Roll  away  from  the  hole,"  said  Banks.  Then 
the  match  scorched  him,  and  he  withdrew  his  hand 
and  head.  He  sat  back  for  a  second  or  two,  con- 
sidering the  situation. 

"  The  old  fiend !  "  he  muttered.  "  He  must  be 
mad  —  or  the  devil  himself.  This  explains  the 
other  thing  that  happened  to  poor  Fletcher  —  the 
attack  in  the  woods.  Oh,  the  cunning  old  beast !  " 

Now  he  set  to  work  with  his  hands,  tearing 
away  the  light  materials  of  the  wall  in  strips  and 
lumps.  He  put  his  hand  through,  found  that 
Fletcher  had  rolled  away,  and  then  wriggled 
through  himself.  It  was  a  tight  passage,  but  at 
last  it  was  safely  accomplished.  To  remove  the 
gag  from  Fletcher's  stiff  jaws  was  the  work  of  a 
few  seconds.  To  untie  and  unwind  the  complicated 
knots  and  cords  that  bound  the  old  fellow's  body 
and  limbs  took  fully  half  an  hour.  During  that 
time,  Fletcher  did  not  say  one  word. 

For  a  little  while  after  the  freeing  of  Timothy 
Fletcher,  Banks  sagged  weakly  against  the  floor. 
His  head  was  spinning  again.  He  closed  his  eyes 
against  the  blackness,  and  began  to  drift  off  into  a 
delightful,  restful  dream.  He  was  all  done  —  all 
in  —  down  and  out !  What  was  the  good  of  worry- 
ing? What  was  the  good  of  anything?  He  had 


254  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

escaped  from  his  cell.  He  had  found  Fletcher  and 
set  him  free.  He  had  earned  his  rest. 

Timothy  Fletcher  dragged  himself  over  to  where 
Mr.  Banks  sagged  against  the  door  like  a  big,  half- 
empty  sack.  Having  spent  half  an  hour  in  moving 
his  tongue  up  and  down,  and  round  and  round  in 
his  mouth,  he  now  found  himself  in  possession  of 
a  fragment  of  voice.  Also,  the  blood  was  beginning 
to  move  in  his  arms  and  legs  again.  His  mind 
was  as  clear  as  glass.  He  fastened  his  thin  fingers 
in  his  rescuer's  collar,  and  shook  that  careless  head 
until  it  flopped  and  knocked  against  the  door. 

"  Wake  up!  "  he  croaked.  "  Wake  up!  We  got 
to  get  out  of  here." 

Banks  opened  his  eyes,  and,  in  the  dark,  grabbed 
Fletcher  with  his  big  hands.  For  a  moment  he 
mistook  the  servant  for  the  master,  and,  with  a 
sudden,  furious  surge  of  strength,  he  shook  him  as 
a  terrier  shakes  a  rat.  Fletcher  yelled,  and  clawed 
the  sportsman  in  the  face.  Then  Banks  realized 
what  he  was  doing. 

"  Sorry,"  he  gasped.  "  I  was  half  asleep.  How 
are  we  to  get  out  ?  " 

Fletcher  did  not  answer  immediately,  but  lay 
panting  in  the  dust.  At  last  he  raised  himself  to 
his  hands  and  knees.  "  This  door,"  he  whispered. 


An  Astonishing  Discovery  255 

"It  is  locked  —  that  is  all.  You  are  strong.  We 
must  get  out !  Quick !  Smash  it !  " 

Mr.  Banks  got  to  his  feet,  and  found  the  position 
of  the  door.  He  moved  slowly.  He  laughed 
softly. 

"Stand  out  of  the  way  —  out  of  the  danger 
zone,"  he  cautioned.  "  I'm  going  to  kick.  I  can 
kick  like  an  army  mule." 

"Kick!  Kick!"  croaked  Timothy  Fletcher, 
crouching  off  to  one  side.  "  There's  drink  down- 
stairs. Food  an'  drink." 

Banks  balanced  himself,  lifted  his  right  knee 
high  against  his  waistcoat,  and  shot  forward  his 
right  heel.  With  a  rending  of  wood  and  ripping 
of  dislodged  screws,  the  door  flew  open,  letting 
a  flood  of  faint  moonlight  into  the  black  closet. 
Banks  staggered  forward,  fell  flat  on  the  floor  out- 
side, then  nipped  to  his  feet  again  as  nimble  as 
a  cat.  Weariness  and  sickness  were  forgotten.  He 
felt  superior  to  anything  old  Wigmore  might  try 
to  do. 

Fletcher  staggered  up,  and  reeled  against  the 
New  Yorker. 

"  He'll  shoot  —  if  he's  home,"  he  gabbled.  "  Get 
hold  of  a  chair  —  to  let  fly  at  him.  Kill  him  if 
you  see  him!  He's  mad!  Kill  him  like  a  rat!" 


256  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  You  bet,"  replied  Banks.  "  If  I  see  him  —  then 
God  pity  him !  Ah !  " 

He  saw  a  heavy  chair  standing  by  the  moonlit 
window.  He  ran  forward,  seized  it  by  the  back, 
and  lifted  it.  He  whirled  it  around  his  head.  He 
felt  strong  enough  to  annihilate  a  score  of  maniacs. 

"  This  will  do.     Come  on,"  he  whispered. 

They  went  down  a  flight  of  heavily  carpeted 
stairs  to  the  lower  hall.  The  winter  moonshine 
lit  the  place  faintly.  Banks  went  ahead,  with  the 
big  chair  ready  in  front  of  him,  and  poor  old 
Timothy  crawling  at  his  heels.  The  house  was  quiet 
as  death.  They  reached  the  hall.  Banks'  anxious 
eye  caught  sight  of  the  shadow  of  a  curtain  at 
the  door  of  the  dining  room.  The  big  chair  hurtled 
through  the  air,  and  burst  against  the  casing  of 
the  door. 

"  My  mistake ! "  he  cried,  and  the  next  moment 
had  armed  himself  with  another  chair.  They  en- 
tered the  dining  room,  found  it  empty,  and  closed 
and  fastened  the  door.  They  rifled  the  sideboard 
of  apples,  soda  biscuits,  bread,  butter,  and  a  half 
bottle  of  sherry.  Timothy  Fletcher  wet  his  insides 
with  a  dozen  great  gulps  of  the  wine,  direct  from 
the  bottle,  and  then  crammed  fragments  of  dry 
bread  into  his  mouth. 


An  Astonishing  Discovery  257 

"  Go  easy,"  cautioned  Banks,  between  mouthfuls. 
"  Dangerous.  Chew  your  food." 

At  last  he  got  possession  of  the  bottle.  The 
wonder  is  that  the  meal  did  not  kill  them.  As 
it  was,  Timothy  Fletcher  lay  down  on  the  carpet, 
and  swore  that  he  would  not  move  another  step 
until  he  was  dashed  well  ready,  and  felt  a  good 
deal  better.  Mr.  Banks  became  indignant. 

"  I  save  your  life,  and  then  you  go  and  eat  your- 
self to  death !  "  he  cried.  "  It's  enough  to  make 
any  one  angry.  If  you  don't  get  up  and  come 
along  out  of  this  cursed  house,  I'll  go  without 
you." 

Timothy  rolled  and  twisted  on  the  carpet. 

"  Don't,"  he  whined,  changing  his  tune.  "  I  feel 
terrible  bad,  Mr.  Banks.  Don't  leave  me.  He  may 
come  home  soon.  What  time  is  it  ?  " 

Banks  had  forgotten  that  such  a  thing  as  time 
existed.  He  heard  a  clock  ticking,  tracked  it  to 
the  chimneypiece,  and  carried  it  to  the  window. 
The  moonlight  was  strong  enough  to  read  the 
hands  by. 

"  Half-past  nine,"  he  said.  "  Half-past  nine  at 
night,  of  course  —  but  of  what  night?  Can  it  be 
only  twenty- four  hours  since  I  crawled  into  this 
infernal  house  through  a  back  window?  I  can't 


258  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

believe  it!  I've  been  sandbagged,  and  shot,  and 
starved!  Twenty- four  hours!" 

"  I  got  an  awful  cramp,"  groaned  Fletcher.  "  Get 
me  some  whisky!  Quick!  Cupboard  in  the  cor- 
ner." 

"  I  told  you  not  to  make  a  pig  of  yourself,"  said 
Banks.  But  he  found  the  cupboard,  brought  the 
whisky,  and  held  the  decanter  to  the  old  man's 
lips.  He  soon  withdrew  it,  in  spite  of  the  other's 
expostulations. 

"Half-past  nine,"  he  said.  "Do  you  get  that? 
When  does  Wigmore  usually  come  home?  " 

"  When  do  he  come  home  ?  "  repeated  Timothy. 
"  Blast  him !  Just  when  you  don't  expect  him ! 
That's  when  he  comes  home.  After  nine,  you  say? 
Then  he  must  be  out  for  the  evening.  We'd  bet- 
ter go  — soon.  Let's  have  another  drop  of  that 
whisky  first." 

'  No  more  whisky  for  you.  How  are  the 
cramps?  " 

"  Bad !  Bad !  The  soda  crackers  lay  on  my 
insides  like  bits  of  flint.  I  was  near  gone,  Mr. 
Banks.  He  left  me  days  and  days  without  bite 
nor  sup  —  may  hell's  flames  scorch  him !  " 

"  But  we  must  get  away !  He  may  be  back  at 
any  moment.  Once  outside  the  house,  we're  safe." 


An  Astonishing  Discovery  259 

"  He  has  that  pistol  in  his  pocket.  We'd  soon 
be  back  again,  if  he  met  us." 

"  Rot!  "  exclaimed  Banks.  "  Come  along!  Buck 
up!" 

"  Can't  do  it,  sir.  Not  just  now  —  anyhow.  I 
feel  that  bad  —  I'd  like  to  die." 

The  New  Yorker  relented,  knelt  beside  him,  and 
let  him  drink  a  little  more  of  the  whisky. 

"  Now,  lie  quiet  until  you  feel  better,"  he  said. 
"I'll  keep  a  watch  out  for  Wigmore  —  and  if  I 
see  him  coming,  I'll  meet  him  at  the  door  —  with 
a  chair.  But  you  let  me  know  as  soon  as  you  feel 
fit  to  move." 

He  took  his  stand  at  a  window  beside  the  front 
door.  The  night  was  almost  as  bright  as  day,  and 
he  could  see  clearly  for  hundreds  of  yards  up  the 
white  road.  So  he  stood  for  fifteen  minutes,  and 
nobody  came  in  sight. 

"  Never  before  in  all  my  life  did  I  put  in  such 
a  day  as  this,"  he  reflected. 

Then  he  heard  Timothy's  husky  voice. 

"  I  feel  a  mite  better  now.  Maybe  we'd  best  get 
out,  Mr.  Banks." 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

DICK  GOODINE  RETURNS   UNEXPECTEDLY 

To  hark  back!  After  Mr.  Banks'  departure  on 
his  secret  mission,  Reginald  Rayton  climbed  out 
of  bed  and  dressed  himself  as  well  as  he  could. 
As  it  was  hopeless  to  attempt  a  coat,  he  folded 
several  blankets  about  his  shoulders,  the  red  one 
outside.  Then  he  went  down  to  the  sitting  room, 
where  a  good  fire  was  burning,  and  shouted  for 
his  new  stableboy.  Bill  Long  entered  from  the 
kitchen  and  sat  down,  when  requested,  on  the  outer 
edge  of  an  armchair.  He  answered  a  dozen  ques- 
tions concerning  the  horses  and  cattle  fluently;  but 
when  his  employer  asked  him  suddenly  if  he  knew 
of  any  one  who  held  a  grudge  against  him  — 
Rayton  —  the  youth  rubbed  one  gray-socked  foot 
across  the  other  and  scratched  the  back  of  his  head 
uneasily. 

'  You  will  be  helping  me  out  if  you  say  what 
you  think,  Bill,"  encouraged  Rayton. 

"  Well,"  replied  Bill,  "  they  do  say  as  how  you 
an'  Doc  Nash  ain't  any  too  friendly." 

260 


Dick  Goodine  Returns  261 

"  That  was  nothing,  Bill.  Just  a  fit  of  bad 
temper.  We  are  on  very  good  terms  now.  Who 
else,  d'you  think?  " 

"  There's  Davy  Marsh.  He's  got  a  mighty  sore 
head.  I  hear  him  talkin'  pretty  wicked  about  ye, 
one  day." 

"  But  he  don't  mean  it,  you  may  be  sure.  It 
was  just  his  trouble  made  him  talk  like  that.  He 
and  I  are  on  a  very  friendly  footing.  He  has 
nothing  to  be  sore  at  me  about." 

"  I  guess  he  thinks  he  has,  Mr.  Rayton.  You've 
cut  him  out  —  or  he  thinks  so.  But  he  weren't 
never  in  to  be  cut  out." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Bill !  I  don't  think  you  should 
talk  that  way  about  Marsh.  He  means  well  enough. 
Who  else?" 

"  Well,  Mr.  Rayton,  what  about  old  Cap'n 
Wigmore?  He  be  mighty  sweet  on  Miss  Nell 
Harley  —  an'  he's  an  all-fired  wicked-lookin'  old 
cuss.  I  guess  if  you  knowed  his  heart  you'd  find 
him  yer  enemy." 

Rayton  laughed.  "  Poor  old  chap !  I  am  sorry 
for  him.  But  come  now,  Bill,  you  are  not  seri- 
ous?" 

'  Yep.  He  be  soft  as  mush  on  that  girl.  Father, 
he  says  so,  too  —  an'  so  does  ma." 


262  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"But  you  don't  think  he'd  shoot  me,  do  you?" 

"  Guess  he  would  —  if  he  got  a  good  chance. 
Guess  he'd  as  lief  kill  a  feller  as  eat  his  supper  — 
judgin'  by  the  looks  of  him.  Tell  you  what,  Mr. 
Ray  ton,  if  I  was  you  I  wouldn't  trust  that  old 
gent  no  farther'n  I  could  chuck  him  over  my 
shoulder.  He's  got  a  bad  eye,  he  has,  jist  like 
Jim  Wiggins'  old  hoss  had  —  an'  it  ended  by  chaw- 
in'  off  two  of  his  fingers  when  he  wasn't  lookin'." 

"Whose  fingers,  Bill?" 

"  Jim's,  in  course." 

"Oh!  Of  course.  But,  see  here,  Bill;  you 
surely  don't  think  old  Captain  Wigmore  shot  me 
in  the  shoulder?  " 

"That's  what  I  think,  Mr.  Rayton.  It  be  jist 
the  kinder  skunk  trick  he'd  do.  I've  watched  him, 
many's  the  time  —  when  he  didn't  know  it.  He 
talks  to  himself  —  an'  sometimes  he  laughs,  an' 
dances  'round  on  his  toes.  That's  gospel,  Mr. 
Rayton.  An'  he  makes  faces  —  lor'!  I'll  bet  ye 
a  dollar,  Mr.  Rayton,  that  'twas  him  shot  you. 
He's  bin  a  pirate,  I  guess  —  an'  'u'd  jist  as  soon 
kill  a  man  as  Jack  Swim  'u'd  kill  a  pig.  He's  got 
a  anchor  thing  inked  in  on  his  arm,  anyhow  —  all 
red  an'  blue.  I  seen  it  one  day  when  he  didn't 
know  I  was  lookin'." 


Dick  Goodine  Returns  263 

;<  You  seem  to  be  greatly  interested  in  him,  Bill. 
You  seem  to  have  watched  him  pretty  closely." 

"  That's  right.  First  time  I  seen  him  and  heard 
his  name  was  Cap'n  Wigmore,  I  began  to  spy  on 
him.  He  brought  to  my  mind  some  other  cap's 
I've  read  about  —  Cap'n  Kidd,  an'  Cap'n  Flint. 
Yes,  Mr.  Rayton,  I've  watched  him,  you  bet  — 
'cept  when  he  was  lookin'  at  me.  I'd  jist  as  lief 
have  a  b'ar  look  at  me  as  that  old  cuss ! " 

"  For  all  that,"  replied  Rayton,  smiling,  "  I  don't 
think  Captain  Wigmore  is  the  man  who  shot  me. 
He  has  an  uncertain  temper,  I  know,  but  I  don't 
believe  he  would  try  to  kill  a  man  in  cold  blood. 
I  can't  think  of  any  one  who  would  try,  deliberately, 
to  kill  me.  It  must  have  been  an  accident,  Bill. 
That's  what  I  think,  anyway." 

"  Accident  nothin',"  returned  Bill.  "  Pirates  kill 
folks,  don't  they?  You  bet  they  do!  Mr.  Banks 
ain't  so  soft  as  you,  Mr.  Rayton.  He's  nosin' 
round,  I  kin  see  that.  I'll  bet  he's  spyin'  on  Cap'n 
Wigmore  this  very  minute.  Smart  gent,  Mr. 
Banks.  Most  Yanks  be  smarter  nor  Englishmen, 
anyhow,  I  guess." 

Rayton's  laughter  was  interrupted  by  Turk.  The 
dog  jumped  up  from  the  rug  before  the  fire,  stood 
for  a  moment,  then  ran  into  the  kitchen,  with  his 


264  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

plume  waving.  The  kitchen  door  opened  and 
closed,  Turk  yelped  a  welcome,  and  next  moment 
Dick  Goodine  entered  the  sitting  room.  The 
trapper  carried  his  snowshoes  under  one  arm  and 
his  blanket-cased  rifle  under  the  other. 

"You,  Dick!"  exclaimed  Rayton.  "Has  any- 
thing gone  wrong?  What's  brought  you  back,  old 
chap?" 

"  Yes,  it's  me,"  answered  the  trapper,  with  an 
uneasy  laugh.  "  Didn't  make  much  of  a  start,  did 
I?  But  nothing's  gone  wrong.  I  made  camp 
twenty  miles  out,  on  Dorker  Crick  —  an'  then  I 
lit  out  on  the  back  trail  —  just  to  tell  you  some- 
thing that's  on  my  mind." 

He  leaned  in  the  doorway,  smiling  at  the  English- 
man and  swinging  his  fur  cap  in  his  hand.  Snow- 
shoes  and  rifle  lay  on  the  floor.  Rayton  gazed 
at  him  with  a  puzzled  shadow  in  his  clear,  kindly 
eyes. 

"Why,  Dick,  that's  too  bad,"  he  said.  "But 
pull  off  your  togs  and  get  something  to  eat  —  and 
then  let  me  hear  what  you  have  on  your  mind.  If 
I  can  help  you,  I'll  do  it.  If  it's  money  for  more 
traps,  I'm  your  man,  Dick." 

"  It  isn't  money,"  said  the  trapper  quietly.  He 
threw  off  his  mittens  and  outer  coat,  and  drew 


Dick  Goodine  Returns  265 

a  chair  close  to  Rayton.  "  It  is  something 
pretty  private,"  he  said,  "  and  important.  It 
brought  me  all  the  way  out  of  the  woods,  to  see 
you." 

Rayton  was  more  deeply  puzzled  than  ever,  and 
a  sharp  anxiety  awoke  in  him.  Had  this  fate  that 
had  struck  others  also  struck  Dick  Goodine?  He 
inspected  his  friend  anxiously,  and  was  relieved  to 
find  that  he  had  suffered  no  physical  injury,  at  any 
rate. 

"  Bill,"  he  said,  "  skip  out  and  make  a  pot  of 
coffee,  there's  a  good  chap.  Shut  the  door  after 
you." 

Bill  Long  obeyed  with  dragging  feet.  He  took 
half  a  minute  to  cross  the  threshold  and  shut  the 
door. 

"  Now,  Dick,  fire  away,"  said  Rayton.  "  Get  it 
off  your  chest.  I'm  your  man,  whatever  your 
trouble  may  be." 

The  trapper  leaned  forward.  Though  his  lips 
smiled,  there  were  tears  in  his  dark  eyes. 

"  Is  the  shoulder  gettin'  along  all  right  ?  "  he 
asked  huskily.  "  And  the  cold  ?  How's  it,  Reg- 
inald?" 

Rayton  laughed  with  a  note  of  astonishment  and 
relief.  "  Did  you  come  all  the  way  out  to  ask 


266  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

about  my  shoulder  and  my  cold  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Well, 
you  are  a  considerate  chap,  I  must  say!  But  it 
was  foolish  of  you,  Dick.  I'm  right  as  wheat ;  but 
it  is  mighty  good  of  you  to  feel  so  anxious,  my 
dear  old  chap  —  and  you  may  be  sure  I'll  never 
forget  it." 

Still  the  trapper  smiled,  and  still  the  moisture 
gleamed  in  his  dark  eyes. 

"I  —  I  felt  anxious  —  oh,  yes,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  I  couldn't  think  o'  nothin'  else  all  the  time  I  was 
trailin'  along  through  the  woods  an'  all  last  night 
in  camp.  That's  right.  So  I  just  up  an'  lit  out 
to  tell  you  —  to  tell  you  the  truth.  I  was  a  fool 
an'  a  coward  not  to  tell  it  before.  I'm  the  man 
who  shot  you !  " 

"What?"  cried  Rayton,  staring.  "You?  For 
Heaven's  sake,  Dick,  don't  be  a  fool!  Have  you 
been  hitting  the  jug  again?  " 

"It's  the  truth,"  said  the  trapper  quietly.  "I 
shot  you  —  an'  I  was  scart  to  own  up  to  it.  I 
didn't  know  it  was  you  until  —  until  I  guessed 
it.  I  thought  I  had  come  pretty  near  hittin'  some- 
body—  but  not  you.  I  didn't  know  who.  I  heard 
the  yells  —  an'  they  sounded  strong  enough.  I'll 
tell  you  just  how  it  was,  Reginald." 

He  paused,  breathing  quickly,  and  brushed  his 


Dick  Goodine  Returns  267 

hand  across  his  face.  Rayton  went  to  the  door 
and  turned  the  key. 

"  Buck  up,  Dick,"  he  said.  "If  you  shot  me 
—  well,  that's  all  right.  No  harm  done ;  but  tell 
me  all  about  it  if  it  will  make  you  feel  any  better." 

"  It  was  this  way,"  began  the  trapper.  "  I  was 
trailin'  'round,  lookin'  for  a  buck  deer  or  anything 
that  might  happen  along  —  and  after  a  while  I 
seen  what  I  took  to  be  the  neck  an'  shoulders  of 
a  buck.  The  light  was  bad,  you  know.  The  thing 
moved  a  little.  I  was  sure  I  could  see  its  horns. 
So  I  let  fly.  Down  he  went  —  an'  then  I  heard 
the  durndest  hollerin'  an'  cussin'  —  an'  I  knew  I'd 
made  a  mistake.  But  the  cussin'  was  that  strong  I 
thought  I'd  missed.  I  cal'lated  the  best  thing  I 
could  do  was  just  to  get  away  quietly  an'  keep 
my  mouth  shut;  and  just  then  came  a  bang  like 
a  cannon  an'  half  a  peck  of  pa'tridge  shot  peppered 
the  bushes  all  round  me.  Then  I  was  more'n  sure 
I  didn't  hit  the  man,  whoever  he  was,  so  I  just 
lit  out  fer  home,  runnin'  as  quiet  as  I  could. 

"  I  got  home  all  right,  thinkin'  it  was  all  a  mighty 
good  joke  on  me,  an'  turned  in  soon  after  supper. 
But  I  couldn't  get  to  sleep.  I  began  to  wonder 
if  I'd  missed  the  mark,  after  all.  The  light  was 
bad,  of  course;  but  I  don't  often  miss  a  shot  like 


268  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

that  at  two  hundred  yards.  I  commenced  workin' 
it  out  in  my  mind,  an'  thinkin'  it  over  an'  over  every 
way. 

"  Moose  an'  caribou,  an'  even  deer,  run  miles 
with  these  here  nickled  bullets  in  them  —  aye,  an' 
right  through  'em;  an'  I've  read  about  soldiers 
fightin'  for  five  or  ten  minutes  after  they  was  hit. 
Then  why  shouldn't  the  man  I  fired  at  by  mistake 
holler  an'  cuss  an'  let  fly  at  me,  even  if  he  was 
plugged?  That's  the  way  I  figgered  it  out  —  an' 
pretty  soon  I  began  to  think  I  had  hit  him. 

"  I  couldn't  get  it  out  of  my  head.  I  saw  him 
layin'  out  on  the  ground,  maybe  bleedin'  to  death. 
I  reckoned  the  thing  to  do  was  hike  over  an'  tell 
you  an'  Mr.  Banks  about  it  an'  see  what  you  thought 
of  it.  So,  after  studyin'  on  it  a  while  longer,  I 
got  up  an'  dressed  an'  sneaked  out  of  the  house. 
When  I  got  to  your  house  there  was  a  light  in 
the  settin'-room  window.  That  scart  me,  for  it 
was  past  two  o'clock  in  the  mornin'  —  pretty  near 
three.  I  let  myself  in,  quiet;  an'  there  was  Mr. 
Banks  in  the  things  he  goes  to  bed  in  —  the  cotton 
pants  an'  little  cotton  jumpers  —  asleep  in  his  chair 
by  the  settin'-room  fir§.  That  gave  me  another 
scare.  I  woke  him  up.  He  jumped  like  I'd  stuck 
a  pin  into  him. 


Dick  Goodine  Returns  269 

"'Hullo,  Dick,'  says  he.  'I  thought  it  was 
Reginald.  Where  is  Reginald,  anyhow  ?  ' 

"  '  Well,  where  is  he  ?  '  says  I,  feelin'  kinder 
faint  in  my  stomach.  '  Maybe  he's  gone  to  bed. 
It's  three  o'clock,  anyhow.' 

"  Then  he  told  me  as  how  you  an'  him  had  gone 
out  gunnin'  together  that  mornin,'  an'  how  you 
hadn't  come  home  yet.  Then  I  felt  pretty  sick; 
an'  I  up  an'  told  him  what  I  was  afeared  of  — 
but  I  was  too  scart  and  rattled  to  tell  him  all  I 
knew  about  it.  It  was  only  guessin',  anyhow  — 
though  I  felt  as  certain  I'd  shot  you  as  if  I'd  seen 
myself  do  it.  I  made  up  a  bit  of  a  yarn  for  him. 

"  I  told  him  as  how  I  was  in  the  woods  when, 
about  sundown,  I  heard  a  rifle  shot,  an'  then  a  lot 
of  hollerin',  an'  then  a  gun  shot.  I  told  him  what 
I  thought  —  that  maybe  somebody  had  plugged 
somebody  —  and  how  that  somebody  might  be  you. 
Well,  he  fired  a  few  questions  at  me,  an'  then  he 
grabs  the  lamp  an'  hits  the  trail  for  upstairs.  In- 
side ten  minutes  he's  down  again;  an'  we  get  lan- 
terns an'  brandy  an'  blankets,  an'  out  we  start. 
It  took  us  a  long  time  to  find  you  —  but  we  did 
—  thank  God! 

"  That's  the  truth  of  it,  Reginald ;  an'  I  couldn't 
rest  easy  till  you  knew  of  it  —  an'  until  I'd  had 


270  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

another  look  at  you.  What  with  all  the  queer 
things  goin'  on  'round  here  of  late  —  an'  them 
cards  dealt  to  you  —  an'  the  bad  name  I  have,  I 
was  scart  to  own  up  to  it  before." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Rayton  slowly  —  "  and  I 
don't  blame  you,  Dick." 

He  put  out  his  free  hand,  and  they  shook  heartily. 

"  You're  a  rare  one,"  said  the  trapper.  "  You're 
white,  clean  through." 

The  Englishman  laughed  confusedly. 

"  Now,  we'd  better  let  Bill  Long  in  and  try  that 
coffee,"  he  suggested.  "  About  what  you've  just 
told  me,  Dick  —  well,  I  think  we'd  better  keep  it 
quiet  for  a  few  days.  We'll  tell  Banks,  of  course; 
but  nobody  else.  Unlock  the  door,  will  you,  Dick?  " 

They  drank  coffee  and  smoked.  Bill  Long  went 
to  bed,  yawning,  before  eleven. 

"  Where's  Mr.  Banks,  anyhow  ?  "  inquired  Dick 
Goodine.  "  Is  he  makin'  a  call  over  tc  the 
Harleys'?" 

"  He  went  out  to  find  the  man  who  shot  me," 
replied  Reginald,  with  a  smile;  "but,  as  he  has 
missed  him,  no  doubt  he  is  at  the  Harleys'.  What 
time  is  it?  Eleven!  He  should  be  home  by  now." 

Half  an  hour  later  they  both  began  to  feel 
anxious.  Banks  was  not  in  the  habit  of  staying 


Dick  Goodine  Returns  271 

out  after  eleven  o'clock.  There  was  nothing  in 
Samson's  Mill  Settlement  to  keep  a  man  out  late. 

"  He  went  out  lookin'  fer  trouble,"  remarked  the 
trapper,  "  an'  maybe  he's  found  it.  Guess  I 
may's  well  go  over  to  Harleys'  an'  take  a  look 
'round." 

"  Perhaps  he  has  gone  to  see  Nash,"  suggested 
Rayton. 

"  Or  old  Wigmore." 

"That's  so.  Better  turn  out  Bill  Long,  too. 
He  can  go  one  way  and  you  another,  Dick.  Banks 
went  out  in  search  of  trouble,  as  you  say  —  and 
perhaps  he  has  found  it.  What  sort  of  night  is 
it?" 

"  Cloudin'  over.  Looks  like  snow  —  and  it's 
milder." 

Fifteen  minutes  later  the  trapper  and  Bill  Long 
left  the  house,  each  carrying  a  stable  lantern.  Bill 
Long  returned  within  an  hour.  He  had  been  to 
Doctor  Nash's,  Samson's,  and  several  other  houses, 
and  had  failed  to  see  or  hear  anything  of  the 
New  York  sportsman.  Twenty  minutes  later 
Dick  Goodine  returned,  accompanied  by  Jim  Har- 
ley.  Jim  had  come  in  from  one  of  his  lumber 
camps  early  that  evening,  having  heard  of  Reginald 
Rayton's  accident.  He  looked  worn  and  anxious; 


272  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

but  expressed  his  relief  at  finding  the  Englishman 
alive. 

"  It  is  more  than  I  expected  when  I  first  heard 
you  had  been  shot,"  he  said  frankly. 

Goodine  told  of  the  unsuccessful  search  for 
Banks.  At  the  Harley  house  he  had  learned  that 
Banks  had  not  been  there  during  the  evening. 
Captain  Wigmore  had  been  there,  however,  for  a 
little  while,  and  had  mentioned  seeing  Banks  on 
the  road.  Then  Jim  Harley  and  Dick  Goodine  had 
called  on  the  captain  to  make  further  inquiries. 

By  that  time,  it  was  snowing  moderately.  They 
had  banged  at  the  door  for  fully  ten  minutes;  and 
at  last  the  old  man,  yawning  and  draped  about  in 
a  dressing  gown,  had  let  them  in.  No,  he  had  seen 
nothing  more  of  the  New  Yorker.  He  had  per- 
suaded them  to  enter  and  sit  down  for  a  little 
while,  and  had  mixed  hot  toddy.  He  had  suggested 
that  Banks  was  safe  home  by  that  time.  Then  the 
two  had  left  the  yawning  captain  to  return  to  his 
bed  —  and  that  was  all. 

"Well,  he's  not  here,"  said  Rayton.  "What's 
to  be  done  now  ?  What  do  you  suggest,  Jim  ?  " 

Jim  had  nothing  to  suggest.  His  anxiety  was 
written  large  on  his  face. 

"  Maybe  he's  gone  into  the  woods  an'  got  him- 


Dick  Goodine  Returns  273 

self  lost,"  said  the  trapper.  "  Anyhow,  I  reckon 
the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  turn  out  an'  hunt  'round 
again.  Maybe  he's  hurt  himself." 

"That's  right,"  returned  Jim  Harley.  He  laid 
his  hand  on  Rayton's  shoulder.  "  And  the  best 
thing  you  can  do  is  to  go  to  bed,"  he  added  solicit- 
ously. 

Harley,  Goodine,  and  Bill  Long  went  out  again 
with  their  lanterns.  The  snow  had  ceased,  but 
the  stars  were  still  thinly  veiled. 

"  I  can't  understand  this,"  whispered  Harley  to 
the  trapper.  "  Mr.  Banks  should  be  safe,  anyway. 
He  has  never  got  the  marked  card." 

"  Can't  a  man  get  into  trouble  without  the  help 
of  them  danged  cards?  You  seem  to  have  'em 
on  the  brain,  Jim !  "  retorted  Dick. 

Jim  sighed  resignedly.  The  fate  that  made, 
dealt,  and  followed  those  little  red  crosses  was  a 
real  and  terrible  thing  to  him. 

The  three  took  different  roads  after  agreeing  to 
inquire  at  every  house  they  came  to,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, to  get  others  to  help  in  the  search.  It  was 
now  after  one  o'clock. 

Dick  Goodine  searched  the  sides  of  the  road, 
the  edges  of  fields,  th'e  pastures,  and  every  clump 
of  bushes  and  of  timber  he  came  to.  He  aroused 


274  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

the  inmates  of  one  house,  made  fruitless  inquiries, 
and  was  informed  that  the  only  adult  males  of 
the  family  were  away  in  the  lumber  woods,  and 
so  could  not  turn  out  to  hunt  for  the  missing  sports- 
man. At  last  he  found  himself  standing  again 
before  Captain  Wigmore's  residence.  He  could  not 
say  what  influence  or  suggestion  had  led  him  back 
to  this  spot.  He  had  followed  his  feet  —  that  is 
all.  One  window  on  the  second  floor  was  faintly 
lighted. 

"  I'd  like  to  know  what  that  old  cuss  is  doin' 
up  this  time  of  night,"  he  muttered. 

He  banged  at  the  knocker  of  the  front  door 
until  the  captain  came  downstairs. 

"  You  again,  Richard !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man. 
"  Come  in.  Come  in.  Still  looking  for  Mr. 
Banks?" 

''  Yes.  He  ain't  turned  up  yet,"  answered  the 
trapper,  stepping  into  the  hall. 

"  I'll  dress  and  help  you  hunt  for  him,"  said 
the  captain.  "  He  is  a  -particular  friend  of  mine. 
I  can't  get  to  sleep  for  worrying  about  him." 


CHAPTER   XIX 
THE  CAPTAIN'S  CHARGE 

CAPTAIN  WIGMORE  lit  a  lamp  in  the  sitting  room, 
and  then  went  upstairs  to  dress.  As  soon  as  he 
was  gone,  the  trapper  commenced  a  noiseless  tour 
of  the  room,  of  the  hall,  and  of  the  rooms  in  the 
front  of  the  house.  He  even  searched  beneath 
articles  of  furniture  and  behind  every  open  door. 
He  explored  the  kitchen,  the  pantry,  and  the  pot 
closet  behind  the  stove. 

"  Guess  I'm  on  the  wrong  track  this  time,"  he 
admitted  at  last,  and  when  Wigmore  came  down 
he  was  sitting  patiently  on  the  edge  of  his  chair, 
with  his  toes  turned  demurely  inward  and  his  hands 
on  his  knees.  The  captain  eyed  him  keenly  for  a 
moment. 

"Want  anything?"  he  asked.  "A  drink,  or 
anything?  " 

"  No ;  thanks  all  the  same,  captain,"  returned  the 
trapper. 

"  I  heard  you  wandering  around,"  said  Wigmore. 
275 


276  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  I  thought  that  perhaps  you  were  looking  for  some- 
thing. You  were  admiring  my  pictures,  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 

The  trapper's  face  flushed  swiftly.  "  Guess 
again,"  he  answered  calmly.  His  gaze  met  the  old 
man's,  and  did  not  waver.  The  captain  was  the 
first  to  look  away.  He  sighed  as  he  did  so. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  do  not  trust  me  entirely," 
he  said.  "  But  we  must  go  and  look  for  poor 
Banks.  He  may  be  freezing  to  death  somewhere. 
Come  along,  Richard.  There  is  no  time  to  lose." 

As  the  two  passed  from  the  house,  Goodine  was 
in  front,  and  for  a  moment  his  back  was  turned 
fairly  to  the  captain.  He  heard  a  little  gasp,  and 
turned  swiftly.  The  captain  withdrew  a  hand 
quickly  from  an  inner  pocket,  and  stooped  to  lock 
the  door. 

"  What's  the  trouble?  "  asked  Dick. 

"  A  twinge  in  my  knee.  I  am  growing  old," 
answered  Wigmore  in  pathetic  tones.  And  to  this 
day,  the  trapper  has  never  fully  realized  how  near 
he  was  at  that  moment  to  a  sudden  and  choking 
oblivion. 

The  old  man  began  to  limp  after  half  an  hour 
of  tramping  the  frozen  roads  and  scrambling 
through  underbrush  and  deep  snow.  At  last  he  sat 


The  Captain's  Charge  277 

down  on  a  hemlock  stump  and  confessed  that  he 
had  reached  the  end  of  his  endurance  and  must 
go  home.  He  was  sorry;  but  it  was  better  to 
drag  himself  home  now  than  keep  at  it  a  few 
minutes  longer  and  then  have  to  be  carried.  Goodine 
agreed  with  him;  and  after  a  short  rest  the  old 
man  set  out  on  his  homeward  journey.  As  long 
as  he  was  in  range  of  the  trapper's  vision  he  stag- 
gered wearily;  but  once  beyond  it  he  scuttled  along 
like  a  little  dog.  He  was  anxious  to  get  home 
and  assure  himself  that  none  of  his  neighbors  were 
exploring  his  house  during  his  absence. 

Dick  Goodine  continued  his  unsuccessful  search- 
ing of  woods,  roads,  and  fields  until  dawn.  He 
crossed  the  trails  of  other  searchers  several  times, 
but  not  once  the  trail  of  Mr.  Banks'  big  and 
familiar  hunting  boots.  Upon  returning  to  Ray- 
ton's,  he  found  Jim  Harley,  Benjamin  Samson, 
Doctor  Nash,  and  several  other  men  drinking  coffee 
in  the  kitchen.  Reginald  had  been  driven  off  to 
his  bed  by  Nash  only  a  few  minutes  before.  An 
air  of  gloom  and  mystery  pervaded  the  room.  Doc- 
tor Nash  alone  showed  an  undaunted  bearing.  He 
talked  loudly,  and  slammed  the  back  of  his  right 
hand  into  the  palm  of  his  left  continually. 

"  Banks  is  no  fool !  "  he  exclaimed,  for  the  tenth 


278  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

time.  "Do  you  think  he'd  walk  out  of  this  house 
and  lose  himself  on  a  night  like  this?  Rot!  Tell 
me  who  set  fire  to  Davy  Marsh's  camp,  who  tied 
old  Fletcher  up  in  that  blanket,  and  who  shot  Ray- 
ton,  and  I'll  tell  you  who  knows  where  Banks  is. 
It  may  be  one  man,  or  it  may  be  a  gang  doing  the 
work;  but  there's  one  man  at  the  back  of  it  all. 
Same  with  the  marks  on  the  cards.  At  first  I  put 
it  all  down  to  you,  Jim;  but  I  couldn't  see  why 
you  should  tie  up  old  Fletcher.  Now,  I  see  it  pretty 
straight.  That  Fletcher  business  was  all  a  bluff. 
He  let  somebody  tie  him  up  —  and,  as  I've  told 
you  a  dozen  times,  that  somebody  is  old  Wigmore. 
What  do  you  say,  Dick  ?  " 

The  others  all  turned  and  stared  at  the  trapper 
with  anxious,  sleep-shadowed  eyes. 

"  I  ain't  sayin'  yes  or  no  yet  a  while,  doc,"  re- 
plied Goodine.  "  What  you  say  sounds  pretty  rea- 
sonable ;  but  I  wouldn't  swear  to  it.  I  ain't  a  fancy 
detective,  but  when  I  see  a  lot  of  smoke  I  can  guess 
at  fire  as  well  as  the  next  man.  Old  Fletcher's 
vanished,  anyhow  —  an'  so  has  Mr.  Banks.  I 
don't  hold  that  what  happened  to  Reginald  has 
anything  to  do  with  the  other  queer  business.  Acci- 
dents will  happen!  But  I  guess  Captain  Wigmore 
is  lyin'  when  he  says  Tim  Fletcher  went  to  New 


The  Captain's  Charge  279 

York;  an'  I  guess  he  was  actin'  the  goat  when  he 
let  on  as  how  he  thought  Doc  Nash  marked  them 
cards.  But  guessin'  won't  find  Mr.  Banks !  " 

"Of  what  do  you  accuse  Captain  Wigmore?" 
asked  Jim  Harley,  gripping  Dick's  arm.  "  I've 
heard  a  lot  of  hinting,  but  no  straight  charge. 
Speak  up  like  a  man  and  be  done  with  it.  Say 
what  you  mean.  I'm  sick  of  listening  to  hints 
against  the  old  man  behind  his  back." 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  the  trapper  looked 
steadily  into  Harley's  eyes,  and  gently  but  firmly 
unfastened  the  grip  of  the  fingers  on  his  arm. 

"  Keep  cool,  Jim,"  he  said.  "  Keep  a  tally  on 
yer  words." 

"  I'll  keep  cool  enough,  Dick.  Don't  worry 
about  me,"  retorted  Jim.  "  But  answer  a  few 
questions,  will  you?  A  few  straight  questions?" 

The  trapper  nodded. 

"  Do  you  think  Captain  Wigmore  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  marks  on  the  cards  ? " 
asked  Harley.  "  Give  me  a  straight  yes  or  no  to 
that." 

"  A  straight  yes  or  no !  Right  you  are !  Yes, 
I  do!" 

"You  do!     Why?" 

"  Because  I  do,  that's  all.     Ask  your  other  ques- 


280  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

tions,  an'  be  darned  quick  about  it.  My  temper's 
short." 

"  Have  you  any  proof  that  he  marked  the 
cards?" 

"  No.  And  you  haven't  any  proof  that  he  didn't, 
neither." 

The  others  crowded  close  around  Dick  Goodine 
and  Jim  Harley. 

"  And  do  you  think  he  had  anything  to  do  with 
Davie  Marsh's  troubles  ?  " 

"  Can't  say.     Don't  know." 

"  Do  you  think  he  shot  old  Reginald  Ray- 
ton?" 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"Why  don't  you?" 

"  Because  I  shot  him  myself." 

A  gasp  went  up  from  the  group  of  anxious  and 
astonished  men. 

"  You !  "  exclaimed  Harley.  "  I  don't  believe 
it." 

"  It's  the  truth,  anyhow.  I  mistook  him  for  a 
buck.  He  knows  all  about  it." 

'Took  him  for  a  buck?" 

'  That's  what  I  said;  an'  if  any  man  here  thinks 
I'm  lyin'  he'd  better  not  say  so,  or  he'll  get  his 
face  pushed  in." 


The  Captain's  Charge  281 

"  It's  a  mistake  that's  bin  made  before,"  said 
Samson. 

Others  nodded. 

"  Well,  there  you  are !  "  said  Harley.  "  If  you 
hadn't  wounded  Rayton  yourself,  you'd  say  that 
Captain  Wigmore  did  it.  But  all  this  talk  won't 
help  Banks.  What  are  we  to  do  next?  " 

"  Have  some  breakfast  and  a  nap,  an'  then  start 
in  huntin'  him  again,"  said  Benjamin  Samson. 
"  We  simply  got  to  find  him,  or  there'll  be  terrible 
things  printed  in  the  New  York  papers  about  this 
here  settlement." 

All  left  the  house  for  their  own  homes  except 
Goodine  and  Doctor  Nash.  As  Goodine  busied 
himself  at  the  stove,  preparing  breakfast,  Nash 
said :  "  That  was  a  startler,  Dick.  Is  it  straight 
that  you  plugged  Rayton  in  the  shoulder?" 

"Just  as  I  said,  doc,"  replied  the  trapper. 

"Does  Wigmore  know  you  did  it?" 

"  Guess  not,  or  he  would  have  said  so  before 
this.  He  put  it  onto  you." 

"  He  did,  the  old  skunk.  But  he  knew  he  was 
lyin'  when  he  said  it.  If  it  wasn't  you,  Dick,  I'd 
think  Wigmore  had  paid  some  one  to  take  a  shot 
at  Rayton.  My  idea  is  that  he  works  the  cards 
and  then  gets  some  one  else  to  make  the  trouble." 


282  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  Maybe  so.  He  didn't  get  me  to  do  that 
shootin',  anyhow.  I  guess  he's  the  man  who  works 
the  cards,  all  right;  but  I'd  like  to  know  what  he 
does  it  for." 

"  My  idea  is  that  he  had  heard  that  story  about 
the  cards  before  and  is  trying  to  scare  people  away 
from  Nell  Harley.  The  old  fool  is  soft  as  mush 
on  her  himself,  you  know." 

"  Well,  doc,  what  we'd  best  do  now  is  to  eat 
a  snack  an'  then  turn  in  an'  get  a  couple  of  hours' 
sleep;  an'  if  we  don't  find  Mr.  Banks  to-day 
we'll  just  up  an'  ask  old  Wigmore  the  reason 
why." 

Two  hours  later  Captain  Wigmore  himself  ar- 
rived at  Rayton's  house.  Nash,  Goodine,  and 
young  Bill  Long  were  in  the  kitchen,  pulling  on 
their  moccasins  and  overcoats.  The  captain  looked 
exceedingly  tired,  but  very  wide  awake. 

"  I've  found  a  clue !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Look  at 
this  knife!  Did  you  ever  see  it  before,  any  of 
you?" 

He  placed  a  big  clasp  knife  on  the  table. 

"Why,  it's  Banks'  knife,"  cried  Doctor  Nash. 
"  I've  seen  it  several  times.  I'd  swear  to  it." 

"Yes,  it's  his.  And  there's  H.  P.  B.  cut  on 
the  handle,"  said  Dick. 


The  Captain's  Charge  283 

"  I  found  it  this  morning,  on  the  Blue  Hill 
road,"  said  the  captain. 

"  On  the  Blue  Hill  road?    How  far  out?  " 

"  About  three  miles  from  my  place.  I've  been 
hunting  for  Banks  since  sunrise,  and  this  is  all 
I've  found." 

"  What  in  thunder  would  he  be  doing  out 
there?" 

"  That's  what  we  must  find  out,"  said  the  cap- 
tain. "  Perhaps  he  was  drunk  and  didn't  know 
where  he  was  going.  Or  perhaps  he  was  bound 
for  Blue  Hill  station  to  catch  a  train.  Heaven 
only  knows !  " 

"How  is  the  road?" 

"  Very  fair,  as  far  as  I  went." 

"  Then  I'll  hitch  the  horses  into  the  sled,  and 
we'll  light  out  on  his  trail,"  said  the  trap- 
per. 

And  that  is  what  happened.  Goodine  and  Doctor 
Nash  set  off  at  a  brisk  trot  in  the  sled,  taking 
Captain  Wigmore  along  with  them  as  far  as  his 
own  gate.  He  gave  them  some  exact  information 
as  to  the  place  where  he  had  picked  up  the  knife. 
He  said  that  he  was  sorry  that  he  could  not  go 
along  with  them,  but  he  was  an  old  man  and  very 
tired.  So  they  drove  on  without  him.  Several 


284  A    Backwoods    Mystery 

teams  had  been  hauling  timber  and  cordwood  that 
way  since  the  snow,  so  the  road  was  in  very  good 
condition. 

They  reached  the  spot  —  or  as  near  it  as  they 
could  tell  —  where  Wigmore  claimed  to  have  found 
the  knife,  and  spent  half  an  hour  in  searching  the 
woods  on  both  sides  of  the  road.  Needless  to  say, 
they  found  no  further  trace  of  Mr.  Banks.  Then 
they  went  on  all  the  way  to  Blue  Hill  Corner  and 
the  railway  station.  The  distance  was  fourteen 
miles  —  fourteen  long  miles.  At  the  village  and 
the  station  they  made  inquiries,  but  no  one  there 
had  seen  the  big  New  Yorker.  He  had  not  left 
by  the  morning  train.  They  remained  to  dinner 
at  Blue  Hill  Corner,  searched  the  surrounding 
country  after  dinner,  then  set  out  on  the  home- 
ward road,  making  frequent  stops  to  hunt  about 
in  the  woods.  It  was  close  upon  sunset  when  they 
reached  Samson's  Mill  Settlement.  Dick  Goodine 
was  depressed,  and  Doctor  Nash  was  in  a  bad 
temper. 

"  Darn  this  country,  anyway !  "  exclaimed  Nash. 
"  It's  full  of  a  lot  of  savages  —  and  crooks.  And 
what's  to  become  of  my  practice  if  I  have  to  spend 
all  my  time  hunting  round  for  Banks?  To  hell 
with  it!" 


The  Captain's  Charge  285 

Early  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day,  Nell 
Harley  received  an  unexpected  visit.  It  was  from 
Maggie  Leblanc.  Jim  was  away,  still  searching 
for  the  lost  New  Yorker,  and  Kate  was  busy  in 
the  sewing  room  upstairs. 

"  I  wanter  tell'e  somethin'  very  particular,"  said 
Maggie,  in  a  faint  voice  and  with  a  flurried  man- 
ner. "  Let  me  tell  ye  all  by  yerself.  It  —  it  be 
mighty  particular." 

"  Is  it  about  Mr.  Banks  ?  Do  you  know  where 
he  is?"  asked  Nell  anxiously. 

"  No,  it  ain't  about  him,"  replied  Maggie  Le- 
blanc. "  I  don't  know  nothin'  about  him." 

Nell  led  the  way  to  the  sitting  room,  and  mo- 
tioned her  visitor  to  a  chair  by  the  fire. 

"  Has  —  has  anything  happened  to  —  Mr.  Ray- 
ton  ? "  she  asked. 

Maggie  shook  her  head.  "  No !  No !  It  is 
about  me  —  an'  Dick  Goodine."  She  brushed  her 
eyes  furtively  with  the  back  of  her  hand.  "  I  liked 
Dick,"  she  continued  unsteadily;  "but  he  didn't 
seem  to  care.  Then  I  —  begun  to  feel's  if  I  hated 
him.  I  knew  him  an'  Davy  Marsh  was  bad  friends, 
so  I  begun  to  try  to  get  Dick  inter  trouble  with 
Davy  —  an'  maybe  with  the  law.  After  Davy's 
canoe  upsot  in  the  rapids  that  day,  I  went  an'  found 


286  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

the  broken  pole  in  the  pool,  an'  fixed  an  end  of 
it  so's  it  looked  like  it  had  been  cut  halfway 
through.  Then  I  put  it  up  on  a  rock  so's  it  would 
be  found. 

"  I  knowed  folks  would  think  Dick  done  it  be- 
cause he  an'  Davy  wasn't  good  friends,  an'  he 
was  the  last  man  Davy  seen  afore  he  started  up- 
stream that  day.  Dick  helped  Davy  to  load  the 
canoe.  Then  —  then  /  sot  fire  to  Davy's  camp. 
But  when  Dick  said  as  how  he  didn't  fire  the  camp 
nor  cut  the  pole,  most  every  one  seemed  to  believe 
him.  I  was  feelin'  different  about  Dick  by  that 
time  —  mighty  sorry  I  tried  to  hurt  him.  But  I 
was  a  feared  to  tell  anybody  what  I  done.  Davy 
Marsh  is  that  mean  an'  small,  he'd  have  the  law 
on  me.  Then  Mr.  Rayton,  he  got  shot  —  an'  then 
Mr.  Banks,  he  got  lost;  an'  this  mornin'  Dick 
Goodine  up  an'  tells  yer  brother,  an'  Doc  Nash, 
an'  a  whole  bunch  more,  as  how  it  was  him  shot 
Mr.  Rayton." 

'  Yes.  Jim  told  me  of  it.  He  mistook  Mr. 
Rayton  for  a  deer,"  said  Nell. 

"  But  some  folks  don't  believe  as  how  he  took 
him  for  a  deer,"  said  Maggie.  "  It's  the  talk  all 
over  the  settlement  now  —  an'  old  Captain  Wig- 
more,  he  be  makin'  a  terrible  story  of  it  all.  He 


The  Captain's  Charge  287 

has  started  up  talk  about  what  happened  to  Dave 
Marsh  ag'in.  He's  makin'  it  look  'sif  Dick  done 
everything  —  an*  like  'sif  he  done  something  to 
Mr.  Banks,  too.  An'  there  be  plenty  of  fools  in 
this  settlement  to  listen  to  him.  So  I'm  tellin'  ye 
the  truth  about  who  sot  fire  to  Davy  Marsh's  camp. 
Davy  don't  know  it  himself.  He  says  Dick  done 
it  —  when  Dick  ain't  lookin'.  But  I  done  it  —  an' 
'twas  me  doctored  that  piece  of  canoe  pole  that 
broke  by  accident  first  of  all  —  an'  I'm  willin'  to 
swear  to  it  on  the  book ! " 

"  You  need  not  swear  it  to  me,'*  said  Nell  Har- 
ley.  "  I  believe  what  you  have  told  me  —  every 
word  of  it  —  though  it  is  a  terrible  thing!  And 
I  believe  whatever  Dick  Goodine  says.  What  can 
I  do  to  help  Dick?" 

"  I  guess  you  like  Dick  pretty  well,"  said  Maggie 
Leblanc,  with  a  swift,  side  wise  glance  of  her  black 
eyes.  "An'  Dick  likes  you.  That's  why  I  got 
mad  at  him,  an'  Wigmore  an'  some  other  folks  say 
that's  why  he  shot  at  Mr.  Rayton." 

"Surely  not!"  cried  Nell,  in  distress.  "How 
can  he  say  such  things?  Oh!  I  am  growing  to 
detest  that  old  man  —  with  his  everlasting  smile. 
As  for  Dick  —  why,  he  scarcely  knows  me.  And 
he  is  Reginald's  friend.  And  he  knows  —  of 


288  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

course  he  knows  —  that  —  that  Reginald  and  I  - 
love  each  other." 

Maggie  Leblanc  nodded  her  head  vigorously  and 
smiled. 

"  Don't  you  fret  yerself,"  she  said.  "  If  he  don't 
know  it,  then  I'll  tell  him." 

Her  eyes  clouded  again  instantly.  "  I  guess  ye 
can  help  Dick  by  just  tellin'  yer  brother  Jim  what 
I  told  ye.  Then  he'll  stand  up  fer  Dick  —  him  and 
Mr.  Rayton  will  —  an'  what  old  Cap'n  Wigmore 
says  won't  harm  him  much,  I  guess." 

"  I  will  tell  him.  He  will  be  on  Dick's  side,  of 
course,"  said  Nell.  And  then,  "  But  why  is  Cap- 
tain Wigmore  trying  to  get  Dick  into  trouble? 
What  has  he  against  Dick?" 

"  Maybe  he's  just  try  in'  to  keep  folks  from 
lookin'  too  close  at  his  own  doin's,"  said  Maggie. 

Nell  Harley  nodded,  but  said  neither  yes  nor  no. 
The  thought  was  in  her  own  mind.  Captain  Wig- 
more,  the  recent  troubles  and  mysteries,  and  the 
marked  cards  had  been  associated  in  her  thoughts 
of  late. 

Jim  Harley  got  home  in  time  for  supper.  He 
told  of  a  fruitless  search;  and  then  Nell  told  of 
Maggie  Leblanc's  amazing  confession.  Jim  sighed 
as  if  with  sudden  relief.  After  a  minute  of  re- 


The  Captain's  Charge  289 

flective  silence,  he  said :  "  But,  still,  the  accidents 
followed  the  cards  —  except  in  this  last  case.  How 
are  we  to  explain  that  —  and  the  cards  themselves? 
First,  it  was  Davy  Marsh,  and  then  Rayton;  but 
the  card  was  never  dealt  to  Mr.  Banks !  " 

"  Which  shows  that  your  foolish  old  curse  is 
going  all  wrong,"  said  his  wife. 

"  Reginald  does  not  believe  in  the  curse  —  and 
neither  do  I,"  said  Nell. 

"  Whoever  did  the  injuries,  and  whoever  dealt 
the  cards,  the  injuries  have  followed  the  dealing 
of  the  cards,"  said  Jim  gloomily. 

"  Except  in  this  last  case,"  said  his  wife.  "  It 
looks  to  me  as  if  Fate,  or  whatever  you  call  it, 
is  getting  itself  mixed  up." 

After  supper,  Jim,  and  his  wife,  and  sister,  all 
went  over  to  see  Reginald  Rayton.  A  fresh  force 
of  men  had  taken  up  the  hunt  for  Mr.  Banks,  and 
parties  had  started  for  every  village  and  settle- 
ment within  a  radius  of  thirty  miles.  The  Har- 
leys  found  Reginald  in  the  sitting  room,  in  com- 
pany with  Dick  Goodine  and  Doctor  Nash.  Rumor 
of  old  Wigmore's  campaign  against  the  trapper  had 
already  reached  them,  and  they  were  talking  it 
over.  Nash  was  bitter. 

"  The  old  devil  tried  to  put  it  on  me,"  he  said, 


290  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  and  maybe  he  would  have  succeeded  if  Dick 
hadn't  confessed.  Just  wait  till  I  see  him!  Dick 
shot  Ray  ton;  but  it  was  Wigmore  himself  who 
fired  Marsh's  camp  —  yes,  and  who's  at  the  bottom 
of  many  more  of  these  tricks!  " 

Then  Nell  Harley  told  them  what  Maggie  Le- 
blanc  had  confessed  to  her.  The  silence  that  fol- 
lowed the  story  was  broken  by  Dick  Goodine. 

"  She  told  you  that !  "  he  exclaimed,  jumping  to 
his  feet.  "She  told  it  herself?  To  save  me? 
Where  is  she  now?  " 

He  was  about  to  leave  the  room  when  the  door 
opened  and  he  was  confronted  by  Captain  Wig- 
more. 


CHAPTER   XX 

THE    CHOSEN    INSTRUMENT    OF    FATE 

MR.  BANKS  and  Timothy  Fletcher  stood  in  Cap- 
tain Wigmore's  hall,  breathing  quietly  and  straining 
eyes  and  ears.  All  was  silent.  All  seemed  safe. 
Banks  opened  the  door.  The  little  porch  was 
empty.  He  stepped  across  the  threshold,  followed 
closely  by  the  staggering  Fletcher.  They  pushed 
open  the  door  of  the  porch,  and  stumbled  out  of 
that  horrible  house,  into  the  frosty  moonshine,  onto 
the  crisp  snow.  No  lurking  danger  confronted 
them.  They  were  free. 

"Thank  God!"  cried  Harvey  P.  Banks, 
hysterically. 

The  air  was  bitterly  cold,  and  the  two  fugitives 
were  without  overcoats.  They  were  so  overjoyed 
to  find  themselves  free  men  again,  however,  that 
they  felt  no  discomfort  from  the  gnawing  of  the 
frozen  air.  The  little  servant  clung  to  the  big 
sportsman;  and  so  they  moved  down  the  narrow 
path  and  through  the  gate  onto  the  highway. 

291 


292  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  He's  played  his  last  dirty  trick  on  me  —  or  any 
one  else,"  mumbled  Fletcher.  "  I've  stood  'im  too 
long  —  too  long!  Now,  he'll  go  back  where  he 
come  from  —  the  grinnin'  snake !  " 

He  leaned  heavily  on  Banks'  arm  and  laughed 
shrilly. 

"Which  way?"  asked  Banks. 

"  Don't  care,"  replied  Fletcher. 

"We'll  head  straight  for  Rayton's,  then,"  said 
Banks.  "  It  seems  a  month  since  I've  seen  Reg- 
inald. Then  we'll  smoke  a  cigar.  Then  we'll  hunt 
up  our  friend  —  and  put  the  boots  to  him." 

The  cold,  clean  air  strengthened  them,  and  they 
were  soon  stepping  out  at  quite  a  respectable  pace. 
They  even  crawled  over  fences  and  took  short  cuts 
across  snow-drifted  meadows  and  pastures.  They 
did  not  meet  or  see  a  human  being,  for  by  this 
time  the  searchers  were  all  miles  away  from  the 
settlement.  They  rested  for  a  minute  against  Ray- 
ton's  front  gate,  then  went  quickly  up  the  long, 
twisting  road  toward  the  low  house  and  glowing 
windows. 

'  There's  company,"  said  Timothy.  "  Maybe 
they're  havin'  another  game  o*  poker."  He  grinned 
at  Banks.  "  Oh,  you're  easy !  A  baby  could  fool 
the  lot  o'  you,"  he  added. 


The  Chosen  Instrument  of  Fate      293 

"  Right  you  are.  That  is  the  sitting-room  win- 
dow. The  curtains  are  not  drawn  tight.  Let's 
look  in  and  see  who's  there,"  said  Banks. 

Banks  took  the  first  look. 

"  Reginald  and  Nash,"  he  whispered.  "  And  the 
girl  —  yes,  and  Jim  and  Dick.  And  who's  that 
sitting  with  his  back  to  the  window  ?  " 

Old  Fletcher  edged  himself  into  the  place  of 
vantage. 

"  It's  him! "  he  whispered.     "  It's  that  snake!  " 

"  Quiet !  "  cautioned  the  other.  "  Look !  He's 
on  his  feet.  He's  wiping  his  eyes.  There's  been 
trouble.  They  have  hurt  his  feelings,  the  poor, 
dear  old  saint !  " 

Old  Timothy  Fletcher  trembled  like  a  wet  dog. 

"  I'll  saint  'im !  "  he  hissed.  "  Come  on !  Come 
on!" 

They  left  the  window,  opened  the  back  door 
noiselessly,  crossed  the  kitchen  on  tiptoes,  and 
threw  open  the  door  of  the  sitting  room.  Fletcher 
pushed  past  Banks,  and  darted  up  to  within  a  foot 
of  Captain  Wigmore. 

"You  lyin',  murderin',  stinkin'  old  lunatic!"  he 
screamed.  "  You  thought  you'd  leave  me  to 
starve,  did  you?  It's  back  to  the  madhouse  for 
you  —  damn  you !  " 


294  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

Every  one  in  the  room  was  standing,  staring 
breathlessly.  For  a  moment  Wigmore  gaped  at  his 
old  servant,  his  mouth  open,  his  eyes  like  stones. 
Then,  with  a  choking  cry,  he  reeled  aside.  Mr. 
Banks  gripped  him  by  the  shoulder,  and  shook  him 
furiously. 

"  You  devil !  "  he  roared.  "  You  smirking  hypo- 
crite! You've  come  to  the  end  of  your  deviltries!  " 

Wigmore  made  a  dash  for  the  door.  Timothy 
Fletcher  sprang  in  front  of  him,  and  was  hurled 
to  the  floor.  Then  Mr.  Banks  jumped  after  Wig- 
more,  caught  the  back  of  his  coat,  and  at  the  same 
moment  tripped  over  the  prostrate  Timothy  and 
crashed  to  earth.  The  little  room  was  now  in 
tumult  and  confusion.  Nell  Harley  crouched  in  a 
corner.  Rayton  stood  guard  in  front  of  her,  his 
sound  arm  extended.  Jim  Harley  sat  upon  the 
shoulders  of  the  big  New  Yorker,  crying :  "  No 
murder  here!  No  murder  here!  What  d'ye  mean 
by  it?" 

Timothy,  lying  flat,  clung  to  Wigmore's  right 
leg. 

"Stop  him!"  he  yelled.  "Stop  him!  He's 
mad  —  a  ravin'  lunatic !  " 

Wigmore  kicked  his  old  servant  in  the  face,  and 
wrenched  himself  clear.  In  another  second  he 


The  Chosen  Instrument  of  Fate      295 

would  have  been  out  of  the  room  and  away  —  but 
just  then  Dick  Goodine  and  Doctor  Nash  closed 
with  the  terrible  old  man,  crushed  him  to  the  floor, 
and  held  him  there.  They  had  their  hands  full, 
but  they  continued  to  hold  him  down. 

There  came  a  brief  lull  in  the  terrific  tumult 
—  but  the  excitement  was  not  yet  over.  Mr. 
Harvey  P.  Banks  was  indignant.  A  madman  had 
tried  to  starve  him  to  death,  and  now  a  presuma- 
bly sane  man  sat  upon  his  back  and  called  him  a 
murderer.  All  his  natural  blandness  was  burned 
out  —  scorched  to  a  flake  of  ash.  The  passions 
of  fur-clad,  pit-dwelling  ancestors  flamed  within 
him.  He  arose  furiously,  twisted  around,  and 
flung  Jim  Harley  aside.  He  gripped  him  by  the 
breast  with  his  left  hand,  by  the  right  wrist  with 
his  right.  He  was  quick  as  a  lizard  and  strong 
as  a  lion.  The  lumberman  was  like  a  child  in  his 
hands. 

"You  fool!"  he  cried,  glaring.  "What  d'you 
mean  by  it?  So  you  are  on  Wigmore's  side,  are 
you?  —  on  the  side  of  the  man  who  tried  to  mur- 
der his  servant  and  me  —  yes,  and  who  marked 
and  dealt  those  cursed  cards!  You'd  sit  on  my 
back,  would  you?  For  two  pins  I'd  pick  you  up 
and  heave  you  against  the  wall.  Tell  me  —  were 


296  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

you  in  league  with  this  old  devil?  Tell  me  quick 
—  or  I'll  finish  you !  Did  you  know  Wigmore  was 
marking  those  cards  ?  " 

"  The  cards !  "  cried  poor  Jim.  "  No,  no !  On 
my  soul,  I  didn't  know  it!  So  help  me  God,  I 
thought  it  was  the  family  curse !  " 

''  You    fool ! "    exclaimed    Banks,    loosening   his 
grip  and  turning  away.     His  rage  had  also  fallen 
to  ashes,  leaving  his  big  face  drawn  and  gray,  and 
his  great  limbs  trembling.    His  eyes  were  dim. 
'  That  snake  poisons  the  air,"  he  muttered. 

He  stepped  across  to  where  Goodine  and  Nash 
held  down  the  squirming  captain. 

"  Let  him  get  up.  He  has  a  good  many  things 
to  explain  to  us,"  he  said  quietly. 

Just  then  poor  old  Fletcher  raised  his  head, 
showing  a  cut  and  bleeding  mouth.  Banks  lifted 
him  in  his  arms,  and  laid  him  on  the  couch. 

"  Don't  stand  there  like  a  wooden  image !  "  he 
said  to  Jim  Harley.  "  Your  inactivity  has  done 
quite  enough  harm  already.  This  old  man  has  been 
gagged,  bound,  and  starved  for  days.  Get  him 
some  brandy." 

As  Nash  and  Goodine  removed  their  knees  and 
hands  from  Captain  Wigmore,  that  old  sinner  began 
to  laugh  immoderately.  Still  laughing,  he  got 


The  Chosen  Instrument  of  Fate     297 

nimbly  to  his  feet,  bowed  to  right  and  left,  and 
sat  down  in  an  armchair. 

"  Mad  as  a  dog,"  mumbled  Fletcher,  with  his 
bleeding  lips.  "  He  never  was  rightly  cured,  any- 
how!" 

"Mad?"  queried  the  captain.  "If  you  mean 
insane,  my  good  fellow,  you  are  very  much  mis- 
taken. That's  right,  Jim.  Give  him  a  drink  — 
but  first  wipe  the  blood  off  his  lips.  Don't  spoil 
the  flavor  of  good  whisky  with  bad  blood." 

"If  you  are  not  insane,"  said  Banks,  "  then  you 
are  utterly  evil  —  a  thing  to  crush  out  like  a  poison- 
ous snake.  But  to  look  you  in  the  eyes  is  to  read 
the  proof  of  your  insanity." 

Wigmore  frowned.  "  Banks,"  he  said,  "  you  are 
feeble.  You  have  the  mind  and  outlook  upon  life 
of  a  boy  of  ten  —  of  a  backward  boy  of  ten.  But 
even  so,  I  believe  you  have  more  intelligence  than 
our  friends  here.  However  that  may  be,  you  man- 
aged to  blunder  across  the  right  trail  at  last. 
That's  why  I  took  you  in  hand." 

:<  You  seem  to  forget  that  I  have  escaped  you," 
said  Banks. 

Wigmore  nodded.  "  I  made  the  mistake  of  un- 
derestimating your  bodily  strength,"  he  admitted. 
"  I  don't  understand  even  now,  how  you  managed 


298  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

to  get  out  of  that  closet.  You  couldn't  kick  down 
the  door  —  even  with  those  boots." 

"Never  mind  about  that!"  exclaimed  Jim  Har- 
ley,  white  with  excitement.  Tell  me  about 
the  cards!  What  do  you  know  about  the 
cards?" 

The  old  man  gazed  at  him  for  a  second  or 
two  with  a  face  of  derisive  inquiry,  and  then  burst 
again  into  furious  laughter. 

"  Absolutely  cracked,"  said  Doctor  Nash.  "  Ab- 
solutely, utterly,  hopelessly  off  his  chump !  " 

Wigmore  ceased  his  wild  laughter  so  suddenly 
that  every  one  was  startled. 

"  Jim,"  he  said,  with  a  bland  leer,  "  you  are  so 
simple  and  unsuspecting  that  I  hate  to  tell  you  the 
truth.  But  I  have  to  do  it,  Jim,  just  to  prove 
to  Banks  and  the  rest  that  I  am  not  insane.  Jim, 
my  boy,  I  am  the  chosen  instrument  of  Fate." 

A  brief,  puzzled  silence  followed,  which  was 
broken  by  the  croaking  voice  of  old  Timothy 
Fletcher. 

"Forget  it!"  snarled  Timothy.  "  D'you  mind 
the  time  you  was  the  Sultan  of  Turkey?  " 

Wigmore  smiled  at  his  servant,  then  glanced 
around  the  room,  and  tapped  his  'forehead  sug- 
gestively with  a  finger. 


The  Chosen  Instrument  of  Fate      299 

"Instrument  of  Fate?  Sultan  "of  Turkey?" 
queried  Banks. 

Jim  Harley  leaned  forward,  clutched  the  old 
man's  shoulder,  and  shook  it  violently. 

"What  do  you  know  about  those  cards?"  he 
cried.  "  Tell  me  that  —  quick !  " 

'  You  seem  to  be  in  a  terrible  hurry,  all  of  a 
sudden,"  replied  the  captain.  "  Oh,  well,  it  does 
not  matter;  but  if  you  really  knew  just  who  I 
am  —  if  you  fully  realized  who  I  am  —  you'd  treat 
me  with  more  consideration.  I  am  the  chosen  hus- 
band of  your  sister.  I  am  her  destiny." 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Harley,  scarcely  above 
a  whisper. 

"  I  am  the  instrument  of  the  Fate  that  haunts 
the  steps  of  your  mother's  daughter,"  replied  Wig- 
more.  "  I  am  the  chosen  instrument.  I  deal  the 
cards  —  and  the  blow  falls.  I  do  not  have  to  soil 
my  hands  —  to  strike  the  blows.  I  mark  the  cards, 
and  deal  them  —  and  Fate  does  the  rest,  through 
such  tools  as  come  to  her  hand." 

He  leered  at  Dick  Goodine. 

'  Then  you  admit  that  you  marked  and  dealt 
the  cards !  "  cried  Harley. 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  boy.  It  was  my  duty  to 
do  so  —  just  as  it  was  my  duty  to  quiet  Banks 


300  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

when  he  came  blundering  into  my  affairs.  I  am 
the  keeper  of  the  curse  —  the  instrument  of  Fate 
—  the  — the-  -" 

He  pressed  both  hands  to  his  forehead,  and 
sighed. 

'  The  star  boarder  at  the  Fairville  Insane  Asy- 
lum," snarled  Timothy  Fletcher,  "  an*  may  the  devil 
catch  that  fool  doctor  who  said  you  was  cured !  " 
he  added. 

Wigmore  lifted  his  face. 

"  I  am  John  Edward  Jackson,"  he  said  pleas- 
antly, as  if  introducing  himself  to  strangers,  "  Cap- 
tain Jackson  —  the  exile." 

"  Jackson !  "  cried  Jim  Harley.  "  Jackson  ? 
What  do  you  mean  ?  Not  the  Jackson  ?  " 

The  old  man  nodded.  "  That's  right,  Jim. 
That's  why  I  marked  the  cards.  I  came  here  on 
purpose  to  look  after  Nell,  you  know.  It  was  my 
duty." 

"  He  is  mad,"  said  Banks.  "  He  is  not  respon- 
sible for  what  he  says  or  does.  He  must  be  taken 
back  to  Fairville." 

'  Yes,  I  am  Captain  Jackson,"  continued  old 
Wigmore.  "  I  had  to  go  away  from  my  home, 
so  I  took  to  seafaring  for  a  while.  What  was  the 
trouble?  Sometimes  I  remember  and  sometimes  I 


The  Chosen  Instrument  of  Fate      301 

forget.  I  got  hold  of  a  mine  and  made  money. 
Then  I  made  a  voyage  back  to  my  own  country, 
on  very  important  business." 

"  That's  one  of  the  stories  he  used  to  tell  me 
when  I  was  his  keeper  in  the  lunatic  asylum,"  said 
Timothy  Fletcher.  "  Sometimes  he  was  Jackson 
an'  sometimes  he  was  the  Grand  Turk." 

"  You  keep  your  mouth  shut  till  you  are  spoken 
to,"  screamed  Wigmore,  in  sudden  fury. 

Harley  stooped  and  gazed  anxiously  at  the  old 
man. 

"  Did  you  murder  my  father? "  he  asked,  his 
voice  shaking. 

For  a  second  the  other  stared  at  him  blankly. 

"  Certainly  not !  "  he  cried  indignantly.  "  All  I 
have  to  do  is  place  the  card!  I  engaged  an  old 
sailor,  or  something  of  the  kind,  to  dispatch  your 
father.  I  indicate.  Fate  destroys." 

Then  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed 
heartily. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THE  DEATH    OF   THE    CURSE 

JIM  HARLEY'S  face  twisted  and  stiffened  like  a 
grotesque  and  hideous  mask;  his  honest  eyes  nar- 
rowed and  reddened;  for  a  little  while  he  stood 
there,  motionless  as  a  figure  of  wood;  then  his 
tongue  flickered  out  and  moistened  his  dry  lips, 
and  the  fingers  of  his  big  hands  opened  and  closed 
several  times.  The  strong  fingers  closed  so  des- 
perately that  the  nails  furrowed  the  skin  of  his 
palms  and  came  away  with  a  stain  of  red. 

"  Damn  you !  "  he  cried,  in  a  voice  so  terrible 
and  unnatural  that  it  startled  his  hearers  like  a 
gun-shot  in  the  small  room.  "  Damn  you,  you 
accursed  murderer!  You  tell  me  that  you  mur- 
dered my  father  —  and  you  sit  there  and  laugh. 
You  devil !  I'll  kill  you  where  you  sit  —  with  my 
empty  hands." 

He  sprang  forward;  but  Banks  threw  out  an 
arm  like  iron  and  grappled  with  him  in  the  nick 
of  time.  Of  the  others  Rayton  alone  moved  to 

302 


The  Death  of  the  Curse  303 

help  in  the  protection  of  the  old  man  who  sat  laugh- 
ing in  the  chair.  Dr.  Nash  looked  on  with  interest, 
Dick  Goodine  folded  his  arms  and  Fletcher  snarled, 
"  Kill  the  old  devil.  Crazy  or  sane,  he  stinks  to 
Heaven  an'  cumbers  the  earth." 

Banks  and  Harley  staggered  like  drunken  men 
within  a  foot  of  the  old  man's  chair.  Harley  was 
blind  with  rage.  Every  drop  of  blood,  every 
muscle,  leapt  to  be  at  the  slayer  of  his  father. 
Nell,  who  had  fled  from  the  room  a  moment  before, 
now  returned  and  ran  to  her  brother,  crying  out 
to  him  to  be  reasonable.  Rayton  followed  the 
stumbling  and  reeling  of  the  wrestlers,  too  weak 
to  assist  Banks  but  plucking  constantly  at  a  coat 
or  shoulder.  This  time  Harley  was  no  child  in  the 
big  sportsman's  arms.  He  fought  like  a  mad  man, 
possessed  and  a-fire  with  the  determination  to 
destroy  his  father's  murderer. 

"  It  is  a  devil !  "  he  cried.  "  Let  me  at  him,  I 
say,"  and  twice  he  tripped  Banks  and  had  him 
down  with  one  knee  on  the  floor.  But  he  could 
not  get  clear  of  the  big  fellow,  nor  overthrow  him. 
And  still  Captain  Wigmore  sat  in  the  chair  and 
laughed  as  if  he  should  die  of  unholy  mirth. 

The  superior  weight  of  Mr.  Banks  told  at  last. 
He  crushed  Jim  Harley  to  the  carpet  and  held  him 


304  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

there,  staring  down  at  him  with  a  flushed,  moist 
face.  Harley  glared  up  at  him,  still  squirming  and 
wriggling. 

"  Lie  still,"  said  Banks,  breathlessly.  "  Do  you 
want  to  add  another  murder  to  the  list  of  trage- 
dies?" 

"  That's  what  I  want  to  do,"  gasped  Jim.  "  But 
it  wouldn't  be  murder  to  clean  the  face  of  the 
earth  of  that  devil.  Let  me  up,  you  big  slob." 

"  You'll  thank  me  for  this,  some  day,"  replied 
Mr.  Banks,  sitting  firmly  and  heavily  upon  Jim 
Harley's  heaving  chest.  By  this  time,  Nell  Harley 
had  subsided  into  Reginald's  anxious  and  ready 
arms. 

Captain  Wigmore  stopped  laughing  suddenly  and 
glanced  from  Banks  and  Jim  on  the  floor  to  the 
girl  and  her  lover. 

"  It's  as  good  as  a  play,"  he  said.  "  Banks,  all 
this  unseemly  and  ungentlemanly  struggle  is  thrown 
away.  My  young  friend  Jim  was  powerless  to  do 
me  any  injury.  I  am  beloved  of  the  gods.  I  am 
the  chosen  instrument  of  fate  —  of  the  fate  of  the 
Harley  family.  Reginald,  you  silly  young  ass,  I 
see  you  hold  that  lady  in  your  arms  with  no  other 
feeling  than  that  of  pity  for  yourself.  The  fates 
have  ordained  that  I  am  to  be  her  husband. 


The  Death  of  the  Curse  305 

Timothy,  you  glowering  old  fool,  bring  me  a  drink 
of  whisky.  Don't  stand  there,  sir!  Step  lively 
when  I  speak  to  you,  or  I'll  send  for  the  bosun  to 
put  you  in  irons." 

"  Forget  it,"  snarled  Timothy  Fletcher.  "  You'll 
never  set  yer  lips  to  another  taste  of  whisky  in 
this  world,  you  old  reprobate.  I  see  death  in  yer 
eyes  now  —  an'  already  the  flare  of  hell  fire. 
It's  a  drink  of  water  ye'll  be  hollerin'  for  pretty 
soon." 

"  Let  me  up,"  said  Jim  Harley.  "  I  promise  you 
I  won't  touch  him." 

So  Mr.  Banks  and  Jim  arose  stiffly  from  the 
floor. 

Captain  Wigmore,  or  Captain  Jackson,  or  the 
Sultan  of  Turkey  —  call  him  what  you  will  — 
glared  at  Timothy  in  silence  for  several  seconds, 
with  hate  and  despair  in  his  eyes.  His  long,  slen- 
der fingers  plucked  at  his  ashen  lips.  Again,  as 
suddenly  as  a  change  of  thought,  he  burst  into  mad 
laughter;  this  laughter  grew  and  thinned  to  shriek- 
ing, then  fell  presently  to  sobbing  and  muttering. 
He  seemed  to  crumple  and  shrink;  and  slowly  he 
slid  from  the  low  chair  to  the  floor.  The  company 
looked  on  without  moving  or  speaking,  some  in  a 
state  of  helpless  horror,  the  doctor  and  old  Timothy 


306  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

Fletcher  with  harsh  curiosity.  Nell  Harley  hid  her 
face  against  Reginald's  shoulder. 

The  murderer  squirmed  on  the  floor,  sobbing  and 
muttering;  and  by  the  time  Doctor  Nash  had  de- 
cided that  he  was  really  having  a  fit  the  old  devil 
had  finished  having  it.  He  was  dead !  Nash  turned 
him  over  and  felt  for  his  heart.  The  heart  was 
still. 

"  The  ugliest  death  I  ever  saw,"  said  Nash, 
glancing  up  at  the  horrified  company. 

"And  the  ugliest  life,"  said  old  Timothy 
Fletcher. 

Reginald  led  the  girl  from  the  room.  They 
stumbled  along  the  hall  and  sat  side  by  side  upon 
the  bottom  step  of  the  stairs.  Then  the  girl  began 
to  weep  and  the  shaken  young  man  to  comfort  her. 

Old  Wigmore's  secret  had  not  escaped  with  his 
wild  and  twisted  spirit. 

"  Hoist  him  onto  the  sofa,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  We'll  sit  on  him  here  and  now." 

All  agreed  that  the  so  called  Captain  Wigmore 
had  died  in  a  fit.  Then  Dick  Goodine  left  the 
house,  saying  that  a  little  fresh  air  would  make 
him  feel  cleaner.  Mr.  Banks  lit  a  cigar,  remarking 
that  he  would  fumigate  this  chamber  of  horrors. 
Then  Dr.  Nash,  as  coroner,  and  Jim  Harley,  who 


The  Death  of  the  Curse 


was  a  justice  of  the  peace,  agreed  that  they  had 
the  authority  to  search  the  belongings  of  the  de- 
ceased. Timothy  Fletcher  said  that  he  knew  where 
the  old  devil  kept  all  his  private  papers.  So  Ray- 
ton  took  Nell  home,  and  Nash,  Banks,  Harley  and 
the  old  servant  drove  over  to  the  dead  man's  house, 
taking  the  shrunken  and  stiffened  clay  along  with 
them  in  the  back  of  the  pung.  They  entered  the 
empty  house  and  Timothy  lit  a  candle  and  led 
the  way  upstairs  to  the  captain's  bed-room.  He 
pointed  to  a  large,  iron-bound  wooden  chest  which 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"  There's  where  he  keeps  his  ungodly  secrets," 
he  said.  "  Mind  the  corp,  gentlemen,  or  it'll  turn 
over  in  agony  when  we  unlock  the  box.  Hell! 
how  I  do  wish  the  old  sinner  was  alive  to  see  it. 
I  shouldn't  wonder  but  we'll  find  some  bones  of 
dead  men  in  that  box." 

"  Where  is  the  key  ?  "  asked  Banks,  shivering 
at  Timothy's  words  and  puffing  nervously  at  a 
freshly  lit  cigar. 

Timothy  chuckled  at  the  big  man's  discomfort 
and  borrowed  a  strong  knife  from  Jim  Harley. 
He  went  to  a  mahogany  secretary  which  stood  at 
the  head  of  the  bed,  opened  the  top  drawer  and 
applied  the  blade  of  the  knife  to  the  front  of  a 


308  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

secret  compartment  within  the  drawer.  He  turned 
in  a  moment  and  tossed  a  bunch  of  keys  to  Mr. 
Banks.  Nash  took  the  keys  from  the  New 
Yorker's  hands  and  knelt  down  before  the  chest. 
Jim  Harley  held  the  candle.  The  chest  had  three 
locks  and  each  of  the  three  called  for  a  separate 
key.  At  last  the  heavy  lid  was  freed  and  lifted. 
The  top  of  the  trunk  was  full  of  clothing.  They 
lifted  out  a  tray  and  found  more  clothing.  They 
lifted  out  another  tray  and  found,  in  the  bottom 
of  the  chest,  books,  nautical  instruments,  a  chart 
or  two,  a  small  bag  of  English  gold,  a  brace  of 
revolvers  and  a  small  iron  dispatch-box.  In  the 
dispatch-box  they  found  many  documentary  proofs 
of  the  old  man's  claim  to  the  style  and  title  of 
Captain  John  Edward  Jackson.  They  found  his 
ship-master's  certificate,  an  appointment  to  the 
command  of  a  gun-boat  in  the  Brazilian  navy, 
title  deeds  to  several  mining  properties  in  Brazil, 
a  yellow  clipping  from  a  St.  John  newspaper  re- 
cording the  marriage  of  Captain  Thomas  Harley, 
and  another  reporting  and  commenting  upon  Har- 
ley's  sudden  and  deplorable  death  at  the  hands  of 
an  unknown  assassin. 

"  This  little  snake  was  the  murderer.    There  can 
be  no  doubt  about  it,"  said  Jim  Harley. 


The  Death  of  the  Curse  309 

"  He  is  answering  for  it  now,"  said  Mr.  Banks, 
quietly. 

"  I  am  afraid  we  must  turn  all  these  things  over 
to  the  Crown,"  said  Nash.  "  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  the  law;  but  I  imagine  it  is  the  busi- 
ness of  the  Crown  to  take  care  of  these  things 
and  look  for  heirs." 

Mr.  Banks  nodded. 

"  I  think  the  lawyers  will  find  it  a  very  pretty 
thing,"  he  remarked.  "  As  for  Samson's  Mill  Set- 
tlement, it  will  become  known  to  the  world." 

"  But  we'll  burn  these  newspaper  clippings,"  said 
Jim  Harley,  snatching  them  up  and  crushing  them 
in  his  hand.  "  The  murderer  is  dead  and  the  curse 
is  dead.  We'll  let  the  old  story  die,  too." 

"I  wonder  if  the  title-deeds  are  straight,"  mur- 
mured Nash.  "  Can  the  Crown  collect,  do  you 
think?  I'll  make  out  my  bill  for  professional  ser- 
vices, anyway." 

"  Heaven  only  knows  what  the  lawyers  will 
make  of  it,"  said  Banks. 

Harley  thrust  the  scraps  of  old  newspaper  into 
the  flame  of  the  candle,  and  as  the  blaze  crawled 
up  and  threw  red  wavers  of  light  around  the  room, 
Banks  and  Nash  jumped  as  if  they  were  on  springs, 
and  old  Timothy  Fletcher  let  out  a  yell. 


310  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

"  I  thought  the  old  varment  was  a-fire  already 
an'  lookin'  over  my  shoulder,"  explained  Timothy, 
a  minute  later.  He  lit  several  more  candles  and 
led  the  way  downstairs  and  into  the  dining-room. 
He  got  out  a  decanter  of  whisky,  glasses  and  water. 
All  four  helped  themselves  to  stiff  doses.  Nash 
took  a  sip,  then  raised  his  glass. 

"  The  old  bounder  started  all  manner  of  mis- 
chief in  this  place,  between  friends  and  neighbors," 
he  said,  "  but  now  he's  dead  we'll  have  a  little 
peace.  Here's  to  peace!  I  wish  Reginald  Rayton 
was  here  to  shake  hands  with  me." 

"  A  very  proper  wish,"  said  Mr.  Banks.  "  The 
old  rascal  made  fools  of  every  mother's  son  of 
us." 

"  He  was  a  wonder,"  said  Timothy  Fletcher. 
"  This  place  will  be  dull  as  ditch  water  now.  He 
was  a  great  pot  cracked,  a  great  bottle  busted.  I 
hope  he  stays  dead,  that's  all.  What  yarns  he  used 
to  tell  me,  when  I  was  his  nurse  at  Fairville  — 
afore  he  begun  to  pretend  he  was  cured.  I  used 
to  think  they  was  all  lies;  but  now  I  guess  they 
was  true  —  the  most  of  them,  anyhow.  Of  course 
I  never  stood  for  the  Sultan  of  Turkey  story.  An' 
he'd  talk  about  the  sea,  an'  foreign  ports  all  smelly 
with  sugar  an'  rum  an'  spice,  until  I  was  pretty 


The  Death  of  the  Curse  311 

near  ripe  to  run  away  an'  sign  on  with  some  skip- 
per. An'  the  adventures!  To  hear  him,  gentle- 
men, you'd  swear  that  in  all  his  v'yages  he'd  never 
gone  ashore  without  savin'  the -life  of  a  beautiful 
woman  nor  glanced  up  at  a  window  in  the  narrow 
street  without  havin'  a  rose  or  a  letter  chucked  out 
to  him.  He  was  a  wonder.  Oh,  yes,  I  admired 
his  brains,  even  after  I  begun  to  hate  him.  He 
was  a  good  master  to  me  for  awhile  after  we  left 
the  mad-house  —  until  he  commenced  rollin'  me  up 
in  blankets  every  now  an'  agin'  an'  jumping  on 
top  of  me  when  I  was  sound  asleep,  yowlin'  like 
a  rnoon-struck  dog.  I  should  have  spoke  about  all 
them  things  to  one  of  you  gentlemen,  I  know; 
but  I  figgered  as  how  he  might  grow  out  of  them 
tricks  some  day  an'  maybe  remember  me  in  his 
will.  I'll  miss  him;  but  I  ain't  sorry  to  see  the 
last  of  him,  damn  him!  I  got  my  wages  all  safe 
—  an'  he  paid  me  well." 


CHAPTER    XXII 

IN   THE   WAY   OF   HAPPINESS 

CAPTAIN  WIGMORE  was  buried  in  Samson's  Mill 
Settlement,  in  a  little  graveyard  on  a  spruce- 
sheltered  slope  behind  the  English  church.  A  very 
young  parson  drove  thirty  miles  to  bury  him;  and 
as  a  Baptist  minister  had  driven  twenty  miles  for 
the  same  purpose  a  joint  service  was  held. 

'  The  old  joker  is  safe  buried,  anyhow;  an'  I'm 
glad  to  know  it,"  was  Timothy  Fletcher's  comment 
at  the  side  of  the  grave. 

"  I'll  never  dig  him  up,  you  may  be  sure,"  said 
Mr.  Banks. 

Mr.  Banks  returned  to  New  York  a  few  days 
after  the  funeral,  but  not  before  he  had  learned 
the  date  set  by  Nell  Harley  for  her  wedding.  He 
promised  to  be  on  hand  to  give  the  groom  away. 
Timothy  Fletcher  bought  three  big  dogs  for  com- 
panions and  continued  to  occupy  the  late  captain's 
house  as  caretaker.  The  dogs  always  slept  in  the 
same  room  with  him  and  he  burned  night  lights 
by  the  score. 

312 


In  the  Way  of  Happiness  313 

The  Crown  took  charge  of  the  late  captain's 
properties  and  discovered  half  a  dozen  heirs  in  the 
persons  of  Brazilian  ladies  who  had  considered 
themselves  widows  for  years  past.  The  Crown  had 
its  troubles.  The  Brazilian  government  stepped  in 
generously  to  share  these  troubles.  Lawyers  set 
to  work  in  several  languages  and  divers  systems  of 
bookkeeping.  What  they  made  of  it  I  don't  know ; 
but  the  wives  were  all  discredited  and  proven  null 
and  void  —  and  Dr.  Nash's  bill  remains  unpaid  to 
this  day. 

Nell  Harley  and  Reginald  Rayton  were  married 
in  June.  Mr.  Banks  attended  in  a  frock  coat  and 
silk  hat  that  surpassed  everything  present  in  novelty 
and  glory  except  the  head-gear  and  coat  of  the 
groom.  It  was  a  wonderful  wedding;  and  to  top 
it,  the  young  couple  set  out  immediately  for  Eng- 
land to  visit  Reginald's  people. 

"That's  what  I  call  style,  from  first  to  last," 
said  Mr.  Samson.  "Them's  the  kind  of  folk  I 
like  to  associate  with,  so  long's  they  don't  set  in 
to  a  game  of  cards." 

Dick  Goodine  married  Maggie  Leblanc  in  July. 

Poker  is  never  played  now  in  Samson's  Mill 
Settlement.  Timothy  Fletcher  still  lives  in  the 
house  that  nobody  seems  to  own  and  that  somehow 


314  A  Backwoods  Mystery 

has  been  overlooked  by  the  Crown,  the  Brazilian 
Government  and  the  lawyers  in  both  languages. 
He  works  now  and  again  for  the  Raytons  or  the 
Harleys.  Reginald  has  bought  more  land  and 
built  a  new  house  and  several  cottages.  His  farm 
is  the  largest,  the  best  and  the  best-worked  in  the 
country.  Mr.  Banks  visits  the  Raytons  every 
October,  for  the  shooting,  and  every  June  for  the 
fishing. 

Davy  Marsh  is  guiding  over  on  the  Tobique  now. 
He  never  comes  home  to  the  settlement.  I  have 
heard  that  he  is  the  most  expensive  guide  on  that 
river  —  but  not  the  best,  by  a  long  shot 

Dr.  Nash  is  still  a  bachelor.  He  dines  twice  a 
week  with  the  Raytons,  as  a  regular  thing,  and 
oftener  when  Mr.  Banks  is  there.  He  is  not  a  bad 
sort,  when  you  really  know  him  well,  and  he  knows 
you ;  but  of  course  he  will  always  be  something  of 
an  ass. 


THE   END. 


Selections  from 
L.  C.  Page  and  Company's 
List  of  Fiction 


WORKS  OF 

ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS 

Each  one  vol.,  library  12mo,  doth  decorative          .         .       $1.50 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  GEORGIANA 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  DATS  OF  THE  YOUNG  PRETENDER.  Illus- 
trated by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

"  A  love-story  in  the  highest  degree,  a  dashing  story,  and  a  re- 
markably well  finished  piece  of  work."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

THE  BRIGHT  FACE  OF  DANGER 

Being  an  account  of  some  adventures  of  Henri  de  Launay,  son 
of  the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire.  Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
"  Mr.  Stephens  has  fairly  outdone  himself.  We  thank  him 

heartily.    The  story  is  nothing  if  not  spirited  and  entertaining, 

rational  and  convincing."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

(40th  thousand.) 

"  This  is  easily  the  best  thing  that  Mr.  Stephens  has  yet  done. 
Those  familiar  with  his  other  novels  can  best  judge  the  measure 
of  this  praise,  which  is  generous."  —  Buffalo  News. 

CAPTAIN  RAVENSHAW 

OR,  THE  MAID  OP  CHEAPSIDE.  (52d  thousand.)  A  romance 
of  Elizabethan  London.  Illustrations  by  Howard  Pyle  and 
other  artists. 

Not  since  the  absorbing  adventures  of  D'Artagnan  have  we  had 
anything  so  good  in  the  blended  vein  of  romance  and  comedy. 

THE  CONTINENTAL  DRAGOON 

A   ROMANCE   OF   PHILIPSE   MANOR   HOUSE   IN   1778.     (53d 
thousand.)     Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
A  stirring  romance  of  the  Resolution,  with  its  scenes  laid  on 
neutral  territory. 


L.   C.  PAGE   &   COMPANY" S 


PHILIP  WINWOOD 

(70th  thousand.)  A  Sketch  of  the  Domestic  History  of  an 
American  Captain  in  the  War  of  Independence,  embracing 
events  that  occurred  between  and  during  the  years  1763  and 
1785  in  New  York  and  London.  Illustrated  by  E.  W.  D. 
Hamilton. 

AN  ENEMY  TO   THE  KING 

(70th  thousand.)  From  the  "  Recently  Discovered  Memoirs 
of  the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire."  Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young. 
An  historical  romance  of  the  sixteenth  century,  describing  the 

adventures  of  a  young  French  nobleman  at  the  court  of  Henry 

III.,  and  on  the  field  with  Henry  IV. 

THE  ROAD  TO   PARIS 

A  STORY  OP  ADVENTURE.  (35th  thousand.)  Illustrated  by 
H.  C.  Edwards. 

An  historical  romance  of  the  eighteenth  century,  being  an 
account  of  the  life  of  an  American  gentleman  adventurer. 

A   GENTLEMAN  PLAYER 

His  ADVENTURES  ON  A  SECRET  MISSION  FOR  QUEEN  ELIZA- 
BETH.    (48th  thousand.)     Illustrated  by  Frank  T.   Merrill. 
The  story  of  a  young  gentleman  who  joins   Shakespeare's 
company  of  players,  and  becomes  a  protege  of  the  great  poet. 

CLEMENTINA'S  HIGHWAYMAN 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated $1.50 

The  story  is  laid  in  the  mid-Georgian  period.  It  is  a  dashing, 
sparkling,  vivacious  comedy,  with  a  heroine  as  lovely  and 
changeable  as  an  April  day,  and  a  hero  all  ardor  and  daring. 

TALES  FROM   BOHEMIA 

Illustrated  by  Wallace  Goldsmith. 

Cloth,  decorative  cover $1 . 50 

These  bright  and  clever  tales  deal  with  people  of  the  theatre 
and  odd  characters  in  other  walks  of  life  which  fringe  on  Bo- 
hemia. 

A  SOLDIER   OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

By  ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS  AND  THEODORE  GOODRIDGE 
ROBERTS. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  frontispiece  hi  full  color  from  a  paint- 
ing by  Frank  T.  Merrill  $1.50 

"  The  plot  shows  invention  and  is  developed  with  originality, 
and  there  is  incident  in  abundance."  —  Brooklyn  Times. 


UST  OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 

HAUNTERS  OF  THE  SILENCES 

Cloth,  one  volume,  with  many  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston 
Bull,  four  of  which  are  in  full  color        ....      $2.00 
The  stories  in  Mr.  .Roberta's  new  collection  are  the  strongest  and 
best  he  has  ever  written. 

He  has  largely  taken  for  his  subjects  those  animals  rarely  met 
with  in  books,  whose  lives  are  spent  "  In  the  Silences,"  where  they 
are  the  supreme  rulers.  Mr.  Roberts  has  written  of  them  sympa- 
thetically, as  always,  but  with  fine  regard  for  the  scientific  truth. 
"  As  a  writer  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an  enviable 
place.  He  is  the  most  literary,  as  well  as  the  most  imaginative 
and  vivid  of  all  the  nature  writers."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

RED  FOX 

THE  STORY  OF  His  ADVENTUROUS  CAREER  IN  THE  RINGWAAK 
WILDS,  AND  OF  His  FINAL  TRIUMPH  OVER  THE  ENEMIES  OF 
His  KIND.    With  fifty  illustrations,  including  frontispiece  in 
color  and  cover  design  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative       ....  $2.00 

"  True  in  substance  but  fascinating  as  fiction.  It  will  interest 
old  and  young,  city-bound  and  free-footed,  those  who  know  ani- 
mals and  those  who  do  not."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  A  brilliant  chapter  in  natural  history."  —  Philadelphia  North 
American. 

THE  KINDRED  OF  THE  WILD 

A  BOOK  OF  ANIMAL  LIFE.    With  fifty-one  full-page  plates  and 
many  decorations  from  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull 

Square  quarto,  decorative  cover $2.00 

"  Is  in  many  ways  the  most  brilliant  collection  of  animal  stories 
that  has  appeared;  well  named  and  well  done."  —  John  Bur- 
roughs. 

THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  TRAILS 

A  companion  volume  to  "  The  Kindred  of  the  Wild."    With 
forty-eight  full-page  plates  and  many  decorations  from  draw- 
ings by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
Square  quarto,  decorative  cover  .       .       «  $2.00 


Z.  C.  PAGE  &>  COMPANY'S 


"  These  stories  are  exquisite  in  their  refinement,  and  yet  robust 
in  their  appreciation  of  some  of  the  rougher  phases  of  woodcraft. 
Among  the  many  writers  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberta  occupies  an 
enviable  place.  —  The  Outlook. 

"  This  is  a  book  full  of  delight.  An  additional  charm  lies  in  Mr. 
Bull's  faithful  and  graphic  illustrations,  which  in  fashion  all  their 
own  tell  the  story  of  the  wild  life,  illuminating  and  supplementing 
the  pen  pictures  of  the  author."  —  Literary  Digest. 

THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WATER 

With  thirty  full-page  illustrations  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull 
and  Frank  Vining  Smith.  Cover  design  and  decorations  by 
Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  Every  paragraph  is  a  splendid  picture,  suggesting  hi  a  few 

words  the  appeal  of  the  vast,   illimitable  wilderness."  —  The 

Chicago  Tribune, 

THE  HEART  THAT  KNOWS 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover   .        .        .        .      $1.50 

"  A  novel  of  singularly  effective  strength,  luminous  in  literary 

color,  rich  in  its  passionate,  yet  tender  drama." — New  York  Globe. 

EARTH'S  ENIGMAS 

A  new  edition  of  Mr.  Roberta's  first  volume  of  fiction,  pub- 
lished in  1892,  and  out  of  print  for  several  years,  with  the  addi- 
tion of  three  new  stories,  and  ten  illustrations  by  Charles 
Livingston  Bull. 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover   .        .        .        .      $1.50 
"  It  will  rank  high  among  collections  of  short  stories.     In 
'  Earth's  Enigmas  '  is  a  wider  range  of  subject  than  in  the  '  Kin- 
dred of  the  Wild.'  "  —  Review  from  advance  sheets  of  the  illustrated 
edition  by  Tiffany  Blak*  in  the  Chicago  Evening  Post, 

BARBARA  LADD 

With  four  illustrations  by  Frank  Verbeck,. 
Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  .        .        .        .     $1.50 
"  From  the  opening  chapter  to  the  final  page  Mr.  Roberts  lures 
us  on  by  his  rapt  devotion  to  the  changing  aspects  of  Nature  and 
by  his  keen  and  sympathetic  analysis  of  human  character."  — 
Boston  Transcript. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


CAMERON    OF    LOCHIEL 

Translated  from  the  French  of  Philippe  Aubert  de  Gasp  i,  with 

frontispiece  in  color  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  Professor  Roberts  deserves  the  thanks  of  his  reader  for  giving 
a  wider  audience  an  opportunity  to  enjoy  this  striking  bit  of 
French  Canadian  literature."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

THE    PRISONER    OF    MADEMOISELLE 

With  frontispiece  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

A  tale  of  Acadia,  —  a  land  which  is  the  author's  heart's  delight, 

—  of  a  valiant  young  lieutenant  and  a  winsome  maiden,  who  first 

captures  and  then  captivates. 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  ANCIENT  WOOD 

With  six  illustrations  by  James  L.  Weston. 

Library  12mo,  decorative  cover       .       .        .       .       .      $1.50 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  novels  of  recent  days."  —  Boston 
Journal. 

"  A  classic  twentieth-century  romance."  —  New  York  Commer- 
cial Advertiser. 

THE    FORGE    IN    THE    FOREST 

Being  the  Narrative  of  the  Acadian  Ranger,  Jean  de  Mer, 
Seigneur  de  Briart,  and  how  he  crossed  the  Black  Abb  6,  and 
of  his  adventures  in  a  strange  fellowship,  Illustrated  by  Henry 
Sandham,  R.  C.  A. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative  »  $1.50 

A  story  of  pure  love  and  heroic  adventure. 

BY    THE    MARSHES   OF    MINAS 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  .  .  $1.50 
Most  of  these  romances  are  in  the  author's  lighter  and  more 

playful  vein;   each  is  a  unit  of  absorbing  interest  and  exquisite 

workmanship. 

A    SISTER    TO    EVANGELINE 

Being  the  Story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went  into 
exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand  Pr6. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated    .       .       .      $1.50 
Swift  action,  fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep 
eion,  and  searching  analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 


L.    C.   PAGE   &>    COMPANY'S 


WORKS  OF 

L*  M.  MONTGOMERY 

ANNE  OF   GREEN   GABLES 

Illustrated  by  M.  A.  and  W.  A.  J.  Claus.  12mo  .  $1.50 
"  Anne  of  Green  Gables  "  is  beyond  question  the  most  popu- 
lar girl  heroine  in  recent  years.  Poets,  statesmen,  humorists, 
critics,  and  the  great  public  have  lost  their  hearts  to  the  charm- 
ing Anne.  "  Anne  of  Green  Gables  "  is  not  a  book  of  a  season, 
to  attain  a  wide  popularity  for  a  brief  space  and  sink  into  ob- 
livion with  many  another  "  best  seller,"  but  its  merit  is  such 
that  it  is  bound  to  have  a  permanent  place  in  literature. 

"  In  '  Anne  of  Green  Gables '  you  will  find  the  dearest  and 
most  moving  and  delightful .  child  since  the  immortal  Alice." 
—  Mark  Twain  in  a  letter  to  Francis  Wilson. 

ANNE   OF  AVONLEA 

Illustrated  by  George  Gibbs.     12mo    .       .       .        .     $1.50 

In  this  volume  Anne  is  as  fascinating  as  ever,  and  the  author 
has  introduced  several  new  characters. 

"  Here  we  have  a  book  as  human  as  '  David  Harum,'  a 
heroine  who  outcharms  a  dozen  princesses  of  fiction,  and  reminds 
you  of  some  sweet  girl  you  know,  or  knew  back  in  the  days 
when  the  world  was  young."  —  San  Francisco  Bulletin. 

"  A  book  to  lift  the  spirit  and  send  the  pessimist  into  bank- 
ruptcy! "  —  Meredith  Nicholson. 

THE   STORY   GIRL 

Illustrated  by  George  Gibbs.     12mo      .        .        .        .     $1.50 
"  A  book  that  holds  one's  interest  and  keeps  a  kindly  smile 
upon  one's  lips  and  in  one's  heart  as  well."  —  Chicago  Inter- 
Ocean. 

"  The  book  is  full  of  sprightly  humor,  the  quaint  conceits 
and  the  genuine  understanding  of  youth,  which  mark  so  ex- 
cellently the  various  chronicles  of  ANNE."  —  New  York  World. 

KDLMENY   OF  THE   ORCHARD 

Illustrated  by  George  Gibbs.       12mo          .        .        .     $1.25 
"  A  story  born  in  the  heart  of  Arcadia  and  brimful  of  the 
sweet  and  simple  life  of  the  primitive  environment."  —  Bos- 
ton   Herald. 

"  A   story    of   decidedly    unusual    conception    and    interest, 
and   will   rival   this  author's  earlier  works  in  popularity."  - 
Kalamazoo  Evening  Press. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

LILIAN  BELL 

CAROLINA   LEE 

With  a  frontispiece  in  color  by  Dora  Wheeler  Keith. 
Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover      .        .       .        .   $1  50 
"  A  charming  portrayal  of  the  attractive  life  of  the  South, 

refreshing  as  a  breeze  that  blows  through  a  pine  forest  "  — 

Albany  Times-Union. 

HOPE    LORING 

Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover   ...         .      $1.50 

"  Tall,  slender,  and  athletic,  fragile-looking,  yet  with  nerves 

and  sinews  of  steel  under  the  velvet  flesh,  frank  as  a  boy  and 

tender  and  beautiful  as  a  woman,  free  and  independent,  yet  not 

bold  —  such  is  '  Hope  Loring.'  "  —  Dorothy  Dix. 

ABROAD    WITH    THE    JIMMIES 

With  a'portrait  in  duogravure,  of  the  author. 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    ....      $1.50 

"  Full  of  ozone,  of  snap,  of  ginger,  of  swing  and  momentum." 

—  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

AT    HOME    WITH    THE    JARDOTES 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  ....  $1.50 
"  Bits  of  gay  humor,  sunny,  whimsical  philosophy,  and  keen 
indubitable  insight  into  the  less  evident  aspects  and  workings 
of  pure  human  nature,  with  a  slender  thread  of  a  cleverly 
extraneous  love  story,  keep  the  interest  of  the  reader  fresh."  — 
Chicago  Record-Herald. 

THE    CONCENTRATIONS    OF    BEE 

With  colored  frontispiece 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  ccver    ....      $1.50 

"  One  of  the  cleverest  women  writers  of  fiction  is  Lilian  Bell. 

She  belongs  to  the  younger  class,  old  jenough  to  have  experience, 

but  not  old  enough  to  have  lost  the  saving  grace  of  enthusiasm," 

—  Los  Angeles  Express. 

THE     INTERFERENCE     OF    PATRICIA    AND    A 
BOOK    OF    GIRLS 

With  a  frontispiece  from  drawing  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    ....      $1.50 
'^Lilian  Bell  surely  understands  girls,  for  she  depicts  all  the 
variations  of  girl  nature  so  charmingly."  —  Chicago  Journal. 


L.  C.   PAGE   <5r>    COMPANY'S 


WORKS  OF 

THEODORE  GOODRIDGE  ROBERTS 

A  CAPTAIN   OF  RALEIGH'S 

Library  12mo.     With  a  frontispiece  in  full  color  from  a  paint- 
ing by  John  GOBS    .        .  $1.50 

"  A  strong,  straightforward  tale  of  love  and  adventure,  well 

worth  reading."  —  Springfield   Union. 

"  It  is  a  romance  of  clean,  warm-hearted  devotion  to  friends 

and  to  duty."  —  Salt  Lake  City  Tribune. 

"  The  story  in  delineating  characters  and  in  the  portrayal  of 

events  makes  it  the  best  tale  the  author  has  yet  written."  - 

Grand  Rapids  Herald. 

A  CAVALIER  OF  VIRGINIA 

Library  12mo.    Illustrated  by  Louis  D.  Gowing        .     $1 . 50 

The  action  is  always  swift  and  romantic  and  the  love  is  of 
the  kind  that  thrills  the  reader.  The  characters  are  admirably 
drawn  and  the  reader  follows  with  deep  interest  the  adventures 
of  the  two  young  people."  —  Baltimore  Sun. 

"  A  stirring  story  combining  love  and  adventure."  —  Brook- 
lyn Eagle. 

"  The  interest  of  the  first  chapter  heightens  as  the  story  pro- 
gresses, and  when  one  finishes  the  tale  it  is  with  regret  that  it  is 
not  much  longer."  —  Boston  Pilot. 

"  A  fine  romantic  presentation  of  the  old  days  in  pioneer 
Virginia  —  heroic  adventures,  pure  love  and  generous  hospital- 
ity. —  Boston  Times. 

HEMMING,  THE  ADVENTURER 

Library  12mo.    With  six  illustrations  by  A.  G.  Larned    $1 . 50 
"  A   remarkable  interpretation   of    the  nomadic  war   corre- 
spondent's life."  —  N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

"  Its  ease  of  style,  its  rapidity,  its  interest  from  page  to  page, 
are  admirable;  and  it  shows  that  inimitable  power  —  the 
story-teller's  gift  of  verisimilitude.  Its  sureness  and  clearness 
are  excellent.  —  The  Reader. 

BROTHERS  OF  PERIL 

Library   12mo.      With  four  illustrations   in  color  by  H.  C. 

Edwards $1.50 

A  tale  of  Newfoundland  in  the  sixteenth  century,  and  of  the 
now  extinct  Beothic  Indians  who  lived  there. 

"  An  original  and  absorbing  story.  A  dashing  story  with  a 
historical  turn.  There  is  no  lack  of  excitement  or  action  in  it, 
all  being  described  in  vigorous,  striking  style."  —  Boston  Tran- 
script. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

NORVAL  RICHARDSON 

THE  LEAD   OF  HONOUR 

With  frontispiece  in  color  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1 . 50 

"  It  is  rarely  that  a  love  story  is  written  in  these  days  that 
has  in  it  so  much  of  fine  and  lofty  sentiment,  of  so  high  ideals 
and  so  absorbing  hi  its  romance  that  the  reader  for  the  time  is 
lifted  out  of  himself."  —  Springfield  Union. 

GEORGE  THORNE 

With  frontispiece  hi  color  by  John  Goss. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1 . 50 

"  The  author  has  made  a  strong  story  which  embodies  a 
most  interesting  study  of  the  influences  of  physical  conditions 
upon  the  mind."  —  New  York  Sun. 

"  The  plot  is  unusual,  the  reader's  interest  is  caught  from 
the  very  first  word  and  held  until  the  end."  —  Philadelphia 
Dispatch. 

"  A  human  interest  story  well  told.  A  love  story  and  an 
honor  story.  A  story  of  the  development  of  character,  the 
result  of  affection.  A  victory  of  right  thinking."  —  The  Sioux 
City  Tribune. 

WORKS  OF 

.    REGINALD  WRIGHT  KAUFFMAN 

MY  HEART  AND   STEPHANIE 

Library  12mo,  illustrated  by  A.  G.  Larned  .  .  $1.25 
"  The  story  goes  with  a  fascinating  rush  which  is  most  en- 
tertaining, and  so  thoroughly  imbued  is  the  reader  with  the 
spirit  of  the  plot  that  he  is  almost  sorry  to  end  the  mystery 
with  the  last  chapter,  even  if  the  ending  is  a  most  happy  and 
logical  one."  —  Boston  Globe. 

MISS  FRANCES  BAIRD,  DETECTIVE 

With  a  frontispiece  by  W.  F.  Kirkpatrick. 

Library  12mo       .        .  $1.25 

"  The  solution  comes  finally  as  a  surprise  even  to  the  experi- 
enced reader  of  detective  stories,  who  will  have  been  kept 
guessing  throughout  the  spirited  narrative,  suspecting  this, 
that,  and  the  other  person.  —  Philadelphia  Press. 


L.    C.  PAGE   &•    COMPANY'S 


WORKS  OF 

EMMA  RAYNER 

THE  DILEMMA   OF  ENGELTIE 

Cloth  decorative,  with  frontispiece  in  full  color  from  a  paint- 
ing by  George  Gibba .     $1 . 50 

"  The  story  is  one  of  unusual  excellence  both  in  the  con- 
ception and  in  the  development  of  the  novel  plot."  —  Chicago 
Tribune. 

"  A  delightful  romance  of  '  little  olde  New  York.'  A  rol- 
licking tale  of  Dutch  fun,  pathos,  and  love."  —  Boston  Globe. 

FREE  TO   SERVE 

The  novel  that  made  the  author  famous. 

Cloth    decorative,    with    frontispiece   in    full    color    from   a 

painting  by  George  Gibbs $1  50 

To  the  charm  of  a  story  well  conceived  and  cleverly  told  is 
added  the  interest  of  characters  that  until  now  have  been  un- 
usual in  present-day  fiction."  —  New  York  Press. 

"  In  '  Free  to  Serve '  we  have  a  book  that  rises  from  out  of 
the  dull  monotony  of  mediocrity  and  amply  deserves  considera- 
tion." —  The  Philadelphia  American. 

WORKS  OF 

STEPHEN  CONRAD 

THE   SECOND   MRS.   JIM 

With  a  frontispiece  by  Ernest  Fosbery. 

Large  16mo SI.  00 

'  '  The  Second  Mrs.  Jim  '  is  worth  as  many  Mrs.  Wiggses 
as  could  be  crowded  into  the  Cabbage  Patch.  The  racy  humor 
and  cheerfulness  and  wisdom  of  the  book  make  it  wholly  de- 
lightful." —  Philadelphia  Press. 

MRS.  JIM  AND  MRS.   JIMMIE 

With  a  frontispiece  in  colors  by  Arthur  W.  Brown. 

12mo $1.50 

This  book  is  in  a  sense  a  sequel  to  "  The  Second  Mrs.  Jim," 
since  it  gives  further  glimpses  of  that  delightful  stepmother 
and  her  philosophy. 

"  Plenty  of  fun  and  humor  in  this  book.  Plenty  of  simple 
pathos  and  quietly  keen  depiction  of  human  nature  afford 
contrast,  and  every  chapter  is  worth  reading.  It  is  a  very 
human  account  of  life  in  a  small  country  town,  and  the  work 
should  be  commended  for  those  sterling  qualities  of  heart  and 
naturalness  so  endearing  to  many."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 


LIST  OF  FICTION  II 

WORKS  OF 

GABRIELE  D'ANNUNZIO 

Signer  d'Annunzio  is  known  throughout  the  world  as  a  poet 
and  a  dramatist,  but  above  all  as  a  novelist,  for  it  is  in  his  novels 
that  he  is  at  his  best.  In  poetic  thought  and  graceful  expression 
he  has  few  equals  among  the  writers  of  the  day. 

He  is  engaged  on  a  most  ambitious  work  —  nothing  less  than 
the  writing  of  nine  novels  which  cover  the  whole  field  of  human 
sentiment.  This  work  he  has  divided  into  three  trilogies,  and 
five  of  the  nine  books  have  been  published.  It  is  to  be  regretted 
that  other  labors  have  interrupted  the  completion  of  the  series. 

"  This  book  is  realistic.  Some  say  that  it  is  brutally  so. 
But  the  realism  is  that  of  Flaubert,  and  not  of  Zola.  There 
is  no  plain  speaking  for  the  sake  of  plain  speaking.  Every 
detail  is  justified  in  the  fact  that  it  illuminates  either  the  motives 
or  the  actions  of  the  man  and  woman  who  here  stand  revealed. 
It  is  deadly  true.  The  author  holds  the  mirror  up  to  nature, 
and  the  reader,  as  he  sees  his  own  experiences  duplicated  in 
passage  after  passage,  has  something  of  the  same  sensation  as 
all  of  us  know  on  the  first  reading  of  George  Meredith's  '  Ego- 
ist.' Reading  these  pages  is  like  being  out  in  the  country  on 
a  dark  night  in  a  storm.  Suddenly  a  flash  of  lightning  comes 
and  every  detail  of  your  surroundings  is  revealed."  —  Review 
of  "  The  Triumph  of  Death  "  in  the  New  York  Evening  Sun. 

The  volumes  published  are  as  follows.  Each  1  vol.,  library 
12mo,  cloth $1.50 

£ 
THE  ROMANCES  OF  THE  ROSE 

THE   CHILD    OF   PLEASURE  (!L  PIACERB). 
THE    INTRUDER  (L'INNOCENTE). 
THE   TRIUMPH   OF    DEATH    (!L    TKIONFO    DELLA 
MORTE). 

J* 
THE    ROMANCES   OF    THE   LILY 

THE   MAIDENS     OF    THE   ROCKS    (LE    VERGINI 

DELLE   ROCCE). 

J* 

THE  ROMANCES  OF  THE  POMEGRANATE 
THE   FLAME   OF  LIFE  (!L  Fuoco). 


12  L.   C.    PAGE  &>    COMPANY'S 

THE  SEA  STORIES  OF  CAPTAIN  T. 
JENKINS  MAINS 

BAHAMA  BILL 

With  frontispiece  in  color  by  H.  R.  Reuterdahl. 

Library  12mo $1.50 

"As  for  Bahama  Bill,  the  reader  will  like  him  whether  he 
will  or  no;    he  dominates  the  book,  unscrupulous  though  he 
may  be.    Nevertheless  there  is  not  a  mean  streak  in  him.    We 
shall  be  tempted  to  read   '  Bahama  Bill '   several  times."  - 
Springfield  Union. 

THE  BLACK  BARQUE 

With  five  illustrations  by  W.  Herbert  Dunton. 

Library  12mo      ....  .  .     $1.50 

"  Captain  Hains,  the  master  of  the  straight  sea  story,  has 
built  a  picture  that  teems  with  the  sea  life  of  the  time,  striking 
in  its  splendid  details.  The  '  Black  Barque  '  is  a  rattling  tiile 
of  the  sea,  as  rough  as  a  storm-lashed  shoal,  as  brutal  as  the 
sea  itself,  with  a  splendid  swing,  a  range  of  rough  characters, 
and  adventures  on  every  page.  —  Current  Literature. 

"  One  of  the  best  sea  stories  ever  published."  —  Chicago 
Tribune. 

THE  WINDJAMMERS 

Library  12mo,  illustrated $1 . 50 

"  A  collection  of  short  sea  stories  unmatched  for  interest, 
ranging  from  the  tragic  to  the  humorous,  and  including  some 
accounts  of  the  weird,  unexplainable  happenings  which  befall 
all  sailors.  Told  with  keen  appreciation,  in  which  the  reader 
will  share."  — AT.  Y.  Sun. 

"  This  is  an  absorbing  story,  with  the  full  flavor  of  the  sea, 
and  will  be  enjoyed  by  all  readers."  —  N.  Y.  World. 

THE  VOYAGE  OF  THE  ARROW 

Library  12mo,  illustrated         .        .       .        .        .        .     $1.50 

"  A  capital  story,  full  of  sensation  and  excitement,  and  a 
rollicking  sea  story  of  the  good  old-fashioned  sort.  The  reader 
who  begins  this  exciting  voyage  will  sail  on  at  the  rate  of  twelve 
miles  an  hour  until  it  is  finished."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  Bold  in  plot  and  told  with  spirit.  Mr.  Hains  knows  the 
sea  and  keeps  its  salt  smell  on  every  page."  —  Philadelphia 
Enquirer. 


LIST  OF  FICTION  13 

WORKS  OF 

NATHAN  GALLIZffiR 

THE  SORCERESS   OF  ROME 

With  four  drawings  in  color  by  "  The  Kinneys." 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

The  love-story  of  Otto  III.,  the  boy  emperor,  and  Stephania, 
wife  of  the  Senator  Crescentius  of  Rome. 

CASTEL  DEL  MONTE 

With  six  illustrations  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1 . 50 

A  romance  of  the  fall  of  the  Hohenstaufen  dynasty  in  Italy. 

THE  COURT  OF  LUCIFER 

With  four  drawings  in  color  by  "  The  Kinneys." 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1 . 50 

An  historical  romance  woven  around  the  famous  Borgia 
family. 

WORKS  OF 

MARK  ASHTON 

AZALIM:    A  ROMANCE  OF  OLD  JUDEA 

Illustrated  with  colored  frontispiece  and  eight  reproductions 

from  rare  old  plates. 

12mo $1.50 

"  The  story  is  clear-cut  and  straightforward,  and  we  feel  we 
are  breathing  the  atmosphere  of  the  period.  It  is  brilliant 
with  descriptions,  has  a  wealth  of  interesting  incidents,  unique 
situations  and  swift  action."  —  Boston  Herald. 

"  There  is  plenty  of  action  which  frequently  becomes  excit- 
ing, and  the  author  wisely  avoids  the  archaic  style  frequently 
attempted  by  those  who  write  of  this  period."  —  Boston 
Transcript. 

SHE    STANDS   ALONE.     BEING  THE  STORY  OP  PILATE'S 

WIFE. 

Library  12mo,   cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  with  twelve  full- 
page  plates   .  $1.50 

Few  novels  of  the  present  day  can  stand  comparison  with 
this  remarkable  book,  which  must  be  ranked  in  modern  litera- 
ture dealing  with  the  early  Christian  era  as  only  second  to 
"  Ben  Hur.  The  reader  will  be  charmed  by  its  dignity  and 
power,  as  well  as  by  its  dramatic  incidents  and  vivid  portray- 
als of  those  wonderful  early  Christians. 


I4  L.   C.   PAGE   &>   COMPANY'S 

WORKS  OF  OTHER  AUTHORS 

MISS  BILLY 

By  ELEANOR  H.  PORTER. 

Cloth    decorative,   with    frontispiece  in  full    color    from    a 

painting  by   Griswold   Tyng $1 . 50 

"  There  is  a  fine  humor  in  the  book,  some  good  revelation 

of  character  and  plenty  of  romance  of  an  unusual  order."  - 

The  Philadelphia  Inquirer. 
"It  is  a  tale  with  many  amusing  situations  and  a  pretty 

romance  which  endears  Billy  to  the  heart  of  the  reader."  - 

Marine  Journal. 

"  The  story  is  good  fun;   rapid,  clean,  and  not  too  obvious; 

Billy  herself  is  '  all  right.'  "  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

TRAVELERS  FIVE:    ALONG  LIFE'S  HIGHWAY 

By  ANNIE  FELLOWS  JOHNSTON,  author  of  the  famous 
"Little  Colonel  Series,"  etc.  With  an  Introduction  by 
Bliss  Carman. 

Cloth  decorative,   with  a  frontispiece  in  full   color  from  a 

painting  by  Edmund  H.   Garrett         .        .        .        .     $1.25 

The  book  is  full  of  life  and  action,  sorroV  and  troubles, 

mingled  with  fun  and  sunshine,  and  therefore  makes  it  hard 

for   the  reader  to  lay   it    aside   without   regret."  —  Scranton 

Times. 
"  Tales  filled  with  deep  and  precious  meaning  which  will 

win  fresh  appreciation  for  this  well-loved  author."  —  Boston 

Herald. 

THE  RED   FOX'S   SON 

By  EDGAR  M.  DILLEY. 

Cloth  decorative,   with  a  frontispiece  in   full   color  from  a 

painting  by  John  Goss $1 . 50 

"  A  sparkling  story  of  the  Balkan  peninsula,  full  of  modern 

adventure  and  mystery,  love  and  joy."  -—  New   York  World. 
"  It  fairly  bristles  with  adventure,  dash  and  spirit.     One  is 

not  likely  to  put  the  book  down  until  the  very  end  is  reached." 

—  Boston  Herald. 

A  GENTLEMAN   OF  QUALITY 

By  FREDERICK  VAN  RENSSELAER  DET. 
Cloth  decorative,  with  frontispiece  in  color  .       .        .     $1 . 50 
"  A  romance  that  is  vivid  and  original.    The  author  shows  a 
groat  gift  of  originality  and  dramatic  insight.    It  is  a  story  that 
will  hold  firmly  the  attention  of  even  the  veteran  novel  reader 
to  the  end."  —  The  Brooklyn  Eagle. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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